Memento Mori
by caledon
Summary: AU. Abel is on the road with Ion chasing Cain and the Rosen Creutz Orden when he is suddenly struck with a memory... What happens when an impossibility is made possible by the enemy and Abel once more regains that which he lost?
1. If you should forget me for a while

Disclaimer: Trinity Blood does not belong to me.

Hi, It's been a while since I wrote/published anything (May2005, a Harry Potter fanfic) so I'm really rusty with writing at the moment.

This fic is experimental in a lot of ways. I've a general idea of where it's heading, but have yet to make a more detailed outline of it; plus I also want to try different styles of writing.

Title: Memento Morī  
Summary: Abel is suddenly struck by a memory.

AU, anime-based, though harkening to the past based on what's translated/speculated about the Red Mars Project, set after Ion joins Abel as he sets out alone.

Edited Jan/2009: Thanks to DarkScrivener for beta reading :)

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Chapter 1: _Remember me when I am gone away,  
Gone far away into the silent land;  
When you can no more hold me by the hand  
Nor I half turn to go yet turning stay  
Remember me when no more day by day  
You tell me of our future that you planned  
Only remember me; you understand  
It will be late to counsel then or pray  
Yet if you should forget me for a while  
And afterwards remember, do not grieve  
For if the darkness and corruption leave  
A vestige of the thoughts that once I had,  
Better by far you should forget and smile  
Than that you should remember and be sad._  
— Christina Rossetti

Silver light streamed through his open window, bathing his face and hair in an almost indistinguishable paleness. He closed his eyes, and the slight breeze on his skin reminded him of a caress he had not felt in more than eight-hundred years. With a start his eyes opened as he realized he had not thought of _her_ in what seemed a longer eternity than when he had guarded her, not at all since he had left her darkness to dwell in the light of the surface in order to fulfill the promise he made to her to protect humanity. Little by little his memory of her had dwindled, and the sudden longing that gripped his heart now was sharp as a knife's blade.

How he had changed! How had he forgotten something that had been part of his existence for so long, the missing essence of his being, the one thing his heart still cried for and one he knew he could never have again? Thoughts of avenging her had been driving him to his present course these past few months since he had confronted her murderer, his brother, and yet…of _her_…he had not once…. His eyes the blue of a winter's lake shed a drop of silver down his cheek, and he mourned in remembrance of that which he'd mourned before.

In a swirl of black he'd donned his robes, the sudden urge to be in her presence a compulsion he couldn't ignore—nor did he want to. Quietly he opened the adjoining door to the room of the still figure on the small bed, his slight touch on the other's shoulder enough to awaken Ion Fortuna.

"What is it?" the young Methuselah asked softly, urgently.

"I have to go," Abel Nightroad hesitantly replied.

"Where?"

"You don't have to follow me. I won't be gone long. I just thought you ought to know."

"Are you going after Cai—"

"No," came the swift answer with a vehement shake of the head, long silver hair swirling with the act. "I just…I need to see someone I haven't thought about for…forever…" his voice trailed off at the last word, and his eyes beneath the round lenses grew wistful, an internal smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. _Forever_, he thought ruefully, _was how long I stayed by her side. How long my tears fell. Forever is the time we can never take back._ The words that spilled from him thereafter sounded as faint as what he saw in his mind's eye. "It was so long ago, the first time I saw her. Something that was made to last, but didn't…" Here his voice grew so soft that Ion was not able to hear what he murmured next.

A small smile lifted the corner of Abel's mouth as his voice grew less muted. "Even then, her hair…so red—"

"Esther!" gasped Ion, his eyes widening, a tinge of jealousy colouring his cheeks.

With a start Abel was brought back to himself. "Esther," he repeated wonderingly, the two syllables seeming unfamiliar to his tongue. Then he gave Ion a small sad smile and shook his head. "I have to go and see…. It just struck me how much I missed her terribly." He rose as he said this, and in two strides was out the door of the abandoned cottage they were resting in.

"I'll go with you," cried Ion, a hint of jealousy mingling with curiosity, for who else could Abel be referring to in his ramblings but the newly crowned Queen of Albion?

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Thanks for reading :) More soon…  
Oct/2006


	2. Now I can't hold you any longer

Disclaimer: Trinity Blood does not belong to me.

This chapter was inspired by the OST picture and the ending song from the anime.

Thanks to those who've read and/or reviewed. I'm grateful for the response to the first chapter :)  
I'm still trying to figure out a lot of things about this story; I hope the "interludes" interjected over the next few chapters won't be confusing.

Edit Jan 2009: Thanks to DarkScrivener for beta reading.

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Interlude: _Ex Abelī Memoria_  
_I know this will not remain forever…_

_It's hard to forget  
I wish there was a solution  
Don't spend your time in confusion_  
— Tane Tomoko, "Broken Wings"

Vast—for such a small word, it _encompassed_. Beyond the window, space was vast. It sprawled and surrounded, letting it be known that compared to it, Abel Knightlord was but a small insignificant piece that would be dead long before it would ever really be old.

The Earth outside the window was a small blue ball suspended in the darkness, while he was out and beyond it, alien and alienated, and made even more so as he led a chosen few to colonize a new planet and call it their new home. But he knew that he would just be another alien to that new place, forever set apart and different, burdened by the Purpose for which he, _she_, and his siblings were created. He had a reason to hate, and he did so with great fervour. He had a reason to love, but it was denied him as its pursuit would not be serving the Purpose; it would not be furthering the goal of the Purpose.

The coldness of space rivaled the vast icy rage burning inside him.

* * *

Chapter 2: _And now I can't hold you any longer  
Love is not a toy  
Let go of me now  
The time we spend is perpetual  
Our future is not real_  
— Tane Tomoko, "Broken Wings"

To Ion's surprise, Abel led the way southeast towards Rome.

The small town they stayed in gave way to a cemetery, the grey headstones and statues matching the grey dawn sky. Abel stopped and stared at a particular angel, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose with something inscrutable in his gaze. He reached out a long arm and touched the stone angel's cheek, his fingers tracing the curious dot on its forehead.

"Why now?" he whispered. "Why are you haunting me?"

"Abel?" Ion said, wonder in his tone. He was a few paces ahead, having stopped when he realized his companion was left behind. Abel seemed enthralled, lost in that faraway gaze, the wrath of vengeance having dissolved to something deeper in his memory. Ion found it an oddly curious behaviour, strange for an already strange Terran.

Abel felt something shift in his chest, a trepidation heavy and suffocating, a gnarled claw scratching incessantly at his heart. His eyes rounded with realization: the surface he touched now was cold and hard, utterly lifeless, whereas that which he had guarded was the opposite even in death. He remembered how his brother held up her head in pride, that long hair which he used to wrap himself in now tangled, the blood in his brother's hand indistinguishable through the tresses. He remembered his grief, how much he had wanted to put her back together, trying to cradle her head and her body against him, wishing his tears would be the thread that would bind her bones once more. It had been strange to him to find that, though broken, she remained warm and soft. And when he laid her down for her final rest, she remained so for all the years he watched her, forever mourning what could never be again.

He stepped away, his hand lingering on the statue's face, before finally turning to the road ahead, the Methuselah walking beside him a blurry pale shadow from the corner of his eyes.

* * *

As all roads led to Rome, they reached the Vatican City in seven days.

There was a slight spring in his step, his feet instinctively taking him where he wanted to go. The disquiet in his heart had not lifted, but that didn't stop the hearty beat from filling him with the sense of homecoming.

Ion and Abel went in through the back entrance near the kitchens, past the vegetable gardens. Abel paused momentarily and winced as he saw his own plot left untended for all these months. The old guilt resurfaced, and the familiar countenance of the priest overcame the darker, more serious persona that accompanied Ion.

"My vegetable garden," Abel said in a hoarse, wistful voice, his shoulders lifting in a shrug. "I never really got the hang of it," he continued apologetically. He moved on, walking the gravel path towards the flower garden where roses and lilies grew. At the end of the path was a dark doorway surrounded by overgrown hedges.

They paused at the opening, Abel holding out an arm towards Ion. "Would you mind," he began, "staying up here for now? It's just that she – I…want to be alone." _With her_, he added to himself. "I won't be long."

"Who? I—oh, of course," replied Ion, curiosity filling him, but he restrained it, keeping his questions to himself, only nodding in acquiescence to Abel's request. He pulled his cloak closer to himself as he leaned against the wall, watching as Abel took a torch from the side and lit it, the fire flickering his shadow across the arching walls as he descended the stone walkway.

The descent was eternal in the catacomb before Abel reached a small open space where, with the flick of his finger, a ring of light surrounding the room lit up to reveal the large curiously-shaped tomb on a raised dais. It was rounded, the colour of faded rose, covered with centuries-old dust. Abel, seemingly spellbound, made his way toward the coffin, fingers automatically pressing the controls on the side without looking, stroking its surface lovingly as he waited for it to open.

Finally there was the sound of air being sucked in and the smell of something long buried and forgotten as the lid slowly lifted. Abel held his breath in, his heart beating fast then suddenly slowing to a stop, his eyes wide and rounded as rage warred with the sad futile foreboding that encompassed him, giving way to numbness. The emptiness he felt inside mirrored what he saw.

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End note(s):

_ex Abelī memoria_ – Latin, "from the memory of Abel" (or so I hope it's the right way of writing it in Latin; it's been a while since I practiced and it took some figuring out whether the genitive or ablative is needed and whether the reflexive noun would've been a better choice than the proper noun--ah, the burdens of translation, how I've never missed thee. If it's wrong, mea culpa).

I took some liberty regarding Abel's last name (there's a discussion about this in the TB Community – awesomest TB site ever, and I can't praise it enough). Abel after all was one of the "Knightlord" siblings in the Red Mars Project, and sometime after they've gone their separate ways I reckon he changed his name to the more familiar "Nightroad". Plus, his initials then were AK.  
Anyone guess what the "Purpose" was that Abel was referring to?

Part of this chapter is inspired by Nina Kiriki Hoffman and Patricia McKillip.

Thanks for reading :) More soon…  
Oct/2006


	3. Measure out my life with tea spoons

Disclaimer: Trinity Blood does not belong to me, but to Sunao Yoshida (r.i.p.), Thores Shibamoto, Kiyo Kyujo, anime by Gonzo.  
Likewise, neither does "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock", which belongs to T. S. Eliot (r.i.p.).

Again, many thanks to those who've read the previous chapters, and most especially to those who've reviewed.

This story is AU (very). It's supposed to follow the anime more than the other media, with quite a number of exceptions, one being that Dietrich is still alive and will play quite a part in future chapters (he's not in this chapter though).

This chapter had been a hard one to write and plan out. I haven't read the novels (though have them on preorder) and just started on the manga, and waited until the last episode of the English dub of the anime was aired just to get anything regarding the Knightlords' Mars days because that mystery there seemed just a lot more fascinating. A lot of what's written in this chapter is speculation, and how I would've liked/imagined things to have gone especially as it regards future chapters…  
Writing this had been like writing a research paper without bothering to cite the primary source, which sorta made me feel iffy and unprofessional despite the fact that no professor would grade me for this, but still it's the principle of the thing (you can't just let go of years' worth of university way of writing)…. I can't promise that the next chapter would be as long as this one (haven't really planned how that one is gonna go yet anyway), so I'm not sure how long it will take to be written (hopefully not as long as this one, but you never really know).

Any errors are my own. Any characters being OOC is my fault.

Edited Jan/2009: Thanks to DarkScrivener for beta reading :)

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o-o-o

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Chapter 3: _Measure Out My Life With Tea Spoons: The Love Song of Abel Knightlord_

**I.** _**There will be time, there will be time**_

Today would be different, the caretakers told Abel Knightlord. Instead of perusing through endless volumes of books and focusing on his studies, they wanted him to meet someone who was just like him, one of the chosen few who had a purpose in life. They told him that he and this someone were the most special of the chosen, and that they—his caretakers—would very much like a detailed report of his reaction to this person.

Because the routine had changed, the sterile white walls didn't seem as offensive to look at, and a smile almost formed on Abel's thin mouth at the thought of seeing a new face, someone unfamiliar to scrutinize and dissect, to get to know to the very last atom. The place of his birth, where he was grown, would now welcome another one just like him, and maybe this time he would learn what it was like to feel something other than loneliness or quiet rage.

They led him to a square room, bare except for two white chairs on opposite ends of a small rectangular table holding the afternoon tea. He took a seat, back ramrod straight, unblinking eyes transfixed on the wall, his hands motionless on his lap. When they ushered the guest in, his composure shattered, and he watched as everything he was feeling at that moment was mirrored in the other boy.

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He'd just met his sister the day before. A small precocious girl with clear green eyes and a crown of black hair, reminding him of the promise of spring: forever on the brink but never quite making it.

He was the winter of discontent with his pale skin and pale hair, a marble statue where cold rage stormed turbulently inside. His other half was calm summer, with pale blond hair and eyes not quite as glacial, with a quiet watchfulness so deeply hidden behind rectangular lenses.

Abel felt a part of himself melt when he first met Lilith Sahl, the icy façade thawing to a slackening jaw and a gaping mouth. Everything about her struck him as striking. He couldn't help the sudden uncomfortable heat that crept steadily up his neck to his face as he eyed the bare abdomen peeking through the sash hanging from her shoulder to hip, as he wondered just how far her tattoos extended to. He wondered about the significance of that unusual cross she wore around her waist. He saw her as autumn, with her dark red hair and burnished skin marked by fading henna. Even then he wanted to absorb all her colours and make her a part of himself. An eternity in exile in another planet didn't seem as bad now that he'd met her.

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o-o-o

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**II. _To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet_ **

When he met Cain again just before they were to leave for their journey, Abel found him to be as charismatic as he was in their first meeting, a born leader, and bred to have all the qualities needed in such a person. As the younger of the two, Abel willingly gave way to the person he now called brother, contented that the more controlled and composed would shoulder most of the burden of their Purpose.

"I am the angel," Cain told him once, "and you are my shadow." He raised a pale hand to push back the silver hair hanging over Abel's eyes, the same cold shade of blue as his. "My white shadow. You were made to follow me in every way." The corners of his lips curved up, forming their identical secret smile.

Abel also found that Cain loved to talk when it was just the two of them, a revolutionist and philosopher full of idle chatter for idle ideas that Abel suffered through fondly.

"And so we hide," Cain observed, before taking a sip of his tea. He peered at his brother over the lenses perched on his nose, fixing him with a glassy stare. "We wear many faces. You have one face for me, one that's less dismal and full of anger, and another for Seth as the doting older brother, and yet another for our dear negative element. There is a mask to wear above and beneath the other masks, until one has hidden so much of one's self that one doesn't know which of those faces is the true face."

"So, what you're saying then," Abel countered with a furrowed brow, "is that the 'you' I'm speaking to is not the real Cain? And incidentally, why do you keep calling Lilith 'negative element'? What do you have against her?"

Cain scoffed. "You ruined my soliloquy. In answer to your latter questions, no, I don't have anything against her. I'm merely pointing out that as our prototype, she's the most different and seemingly inferior compared to us, the improved later versions. She's 'negative' only insofar as being the original sample, there were a lot of elements discovered that needed enriching." He punctuated his point with a forceful push of his glasses up his nose. "Now, if we're done with this unnecessary discussion, let's get back to my original point, which is that I am the Cain you know, but there's something of me that is beyond what you see, and what I'm allowing you to see. There's always an insidious part of ourselves we seldom, if ever, show, a part of ourselves we cannot relinquish to others. Something for our own selves to retain, the deepest part of ourselves that we cannot, and must never, lose. And so we hide."

Abel sighed, quite miffed about Cain's sordid view of Lilith, but willing to let that subject drop for the present. "And why is that?"

"I just told you, Abel. There's more to a person than anyone will ever know. Do you think Lilith, the goddess of your juvenile idolatry—how goes the courtship, by the way? Does she still persist in rejecting you?—has been true to you? There's a part of her she keeps from you, a secret she dare not bestow even upon you—"

Abel straightened, quite haggled. "What are you saying?"

"Ask her."

"Do you know it?"

"Ask her."

Tense silence fell as they stared at each other, one pair of eyes veiled and secretive, full of things he would not allow himself to reveal, while the other was agitated, unable to conceal the fury and passion burning beneath the wintry exterior.

"Do you know," Cain began with a gentler voice, "that when you started obsessing about her we ceased to be the same person? Brothers, mirror-images and shadows of each other in every way—all gone because of this one small difference."

Abel swallowed, not quite sure how to reply to that, all thoughts and truths churning save for one: "I've always loved her."

Cain's lips pursed. "I know. It just saddens me to realize that we've had this disparity for so long. All this time we've worn the faces of twins, the perfect reflection, and yet still there was that hidden thing that had always kept us truly apart."

"I'm always on your side."

Cain lowered his gaze finally, eyeing the cold tea. The corner of his lip turned up to a smile he couldn't feel. "We're all of us capable of duplicity."

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o-o-o

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**III. _There will be time to murder and create_ **

Emotions warred tempestuously inside him, sifting and churning, as he watched the Earth fall away from the ship taking them to Mars. Righteousness and relief were the only ones he could name at that moment. The planet of their birth was being murdered by all its unceasing wars, each new weapon forged was a poison to its atmosphere and inhabitants. And in the midst of this Armageddon, the Red Mars Project was conceived as a resolution to the still growing overpopulation of the planet (despite the unnecessary deaths caused by the war). How right and just, he thought, that the world would destroy and renew itself through fire. If he himself could not be there to destroy it, then he'd leave its annihilation to those left behind. But would it still be there, he wondered despite himself, if or when they should ever decide to come back?

And now here he stood, heart ice-cold at the scene of the blue planet falling below, off to a new place to call home, but deep inside knowing that, like the world they'd just left behind, it was another place where they did not belong. What could they create on that distant red planet? How would it differ from the world they knew?

"How now, Abel," Cain said with that serene detachment that always accompanied him. "Will you just look at that. Here we are, together at last. The four of us against the world. We were created to change worlds. Our own births signalled that. We disturbed the universe just by existing. We changed Earth just by being the successful results of genetic manipulation, and now we are on our way to renew Mars." He placed a hand against the glass, tracing the small sphere Earth had become. "Doesn't that just fill you with a sense of purpose?" he remarked sardonically.

Abel's chest expanded as he drew in a deep breath. He left Cain's question hanging between them, swallowed by the vacuous space.

* * *

_Settled_ was the word that fit their arrival on Mars. Dust flew and settled as their ship landed. It was tough at first, but they adjusted and settled in bit by bit in their new domain. There was peace of a kind as everyone tried to organize how to set up while through it all the four of them stood at the top to oversee how they fared.

Abel was the only one unsettled. He discovered that the heart, his in particular, was capable of experiencing different stages of coldness. There was frost-covered anger that he knew would never leave him: because he existed, because the world that made him still hung on despite their distance and the war that should've destroyed it, and because a remnant of that hateful race came with them to this brave new world.

On the other side of the glacial spectrum, his heart burned with fire so icy he was surprised it hadn't left him feeling numb. He didn't really know what he was expecting when they landed, but he supposed that through all the changes that happened, this…_something_…between him and Lilith could have had some sort of resolution.

He couldn't understand why they couldn't have something more. He'd never felt as he did for her towards anyone else, and it was agonizing to be close to her day after day where their work wasn't as distracting as it used to be.

Abel knew it couldn't be their ages. Lilith was only three years older than him, and that was irrelevant compared to the years their bodies were made to withstand. All it meant was that being together forever was truly a possibility for them, not just a figure of speech.

She always reminded him that they were still human, and here he was experiencing these very human feelings, while she remained distant, unmoved and unselfish enough not to give in.

Only with her was Abel driven with _need_ and _want_. They were the constants that made his heart pound and blood heat whenever she was near. His limbs trembled with the desire to possess this one thing he could not seem to ever attain, though she was always within reach, close enough to touch and to smell the spicy-sweet scent, but somehow he always fell short, left feeling unworthy.

Maybe, in being created as opposed to being birthed, and despite Lilith's constant reminders and protestations, they weren't human enough even for love.

And lo here she walked, the white coat of office adorned her figure ill-fittingly where she should have been covered in a silk embroidered gown, filmy and fleeting in the dense air, shifting with the ebb and flow of ocean waves to reveal a secretive mark of henna on golden skin. Like his coat it covered her neck and arms, showing only the face of a leader, there to be what she was created for.

"Hello," she greeted with a warm smile, enough to thaw the ice around his heart. If only her smile and her gaze were enough, he could pass the rest of his days contented.

He opened his mouth to respond in kind but to his surprise he found himself asking the question that had been plaguing him. "Do you know how much I love you?"

They were both taken aback. She stared at him with wide eyes, lacking surprise but full of questions. _Why are you asking this now? Haven't we been past this?_

He was breathless, too overwhelmed by what he felt and what he revealed, afraid to breathe again, afraid of what her answer could be.

Her mouth opened and closed, but no words came, swallowed by the turmoil he saw in her face.

"I just want to know," he began finally, after minutes, after an eternity, "how you feel. If there's any way you'd ever be able to feel the same, or if there's no chance at all, I'd like to know."

Her gaze broke from his, and with a hoarse voice she whispered, "We can't."

"Why not?"

"I—"

"Is there someone else?" he interjected mournfully.

Her eyes rose, met his, pleading for an understanding he wasn't sure he would be unselfish enough to give.

"No," she answered softly. "There's no one else. No one but you."

He stared at her, blue eyes round with incredulousness, unable to fully comprehend what she'd just said. He opened his mouth, hope filling his chest.

"But the two of us…it's not possible."

With that, the hope that started to grow shattered, but he persisted, assembling the remnants to form a question. "Why not?"

Tears filled her eyes, rendering them glassy. "Another one died today."

Abel frowned, wondering what she was referring to and how that could have anything to do with what they were discussing.

She moistened her lips, and blinked in an attempt to abate her tears. "Another human child died at birth today. Another one that failed to be born in this planet. I've lost count of how many that makes now. But everything has failed. They can't survive here. They're not like us; they weren't created for this type of situation. It all failed. I failed."

She raised her eyes to meet his, so full of sorrow it made his chest ache. "I'm barren, Abel. I can't have any children. I can't have yours. No matter how desperately I dream of us, this failure outweighs all other possibilities. In this, our most important objective, the purpose of our creation, I already failed…without even trying."

She sniffed, unable to hold back the tears any longer; they flowed down fragile cheeks, and he was frozen at the sight of them and her revelation.

"I'm barren. I am empty. I have nothing to offer you. I'm sorry."

She turned and ran out the door, leaving him behind, still immobile, a trail of sympathetic moisture grazing down his cheek, until through the confusing thoughts swirling through his head he was able to finally identify the one thing he held true in what he felt for Lilith: _I don't care. I still love you, despite everything._

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o-o-o

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**IV. _And time for all the works and days of hands_ **

On the left hand of Cain sat Seth, and on his right was Abel. The second Knightlord brother sulked, masking the turmoil caused by the woman on his right with his ever present scowl. It seemed only a short time ago that he was out on the arid desert of Mars, left for dead by those he hated, when she came with worry on her brow, out to save him from a sordid fate. But even after all that, the two of them were still at the impasse she imposed, still keeping him at arm's length, left forever reaching.

Cain's authoritative voice intruded through the storm of his thoughts. "We shall commence. Lieutenant Knightlord, what have you discovered about Commander Knightlord and Lieutenant Sahl's finding?"

Seth straightened in her seat, her young face wearing an unaccustomed mask of seriousness. "What I've concluded from the samples obtained by Commander Knightlord and Lieutenant Sahl is that both the Bacillus and the Crusnik nanomachines are not autochthonic in this planet. Even here they are alien as we are alien. Which brings up the possibility that the creatures also found at the site may not be natives to this planet. From the small samples applied to experiments, we found that the Bacillus can enable the unenhanced humans to survive in this Martian environment. We've still to reach a conclusion about the other set of nanomachines, the Crusnik. We haven't yet been able ascertain what exactly they are capable of, and what kind of symbiotic relationship they have with the Bacillus."

Silence descended as the youngest Knightlord finished. Cain's eyes were hidden behind the light reflected on his glasses. Abel sighed deeply, eyes forcefully gazing away from the figure to his right. There was a heavy ominousness in the air, almost suffocating, as though an unforeseen force was on its way to change the course of their lives, where they would not be given time to revise and reverse any decision made.

* * *

The shimmering heat simmered in his chest, its flames dying down to embers. With a lingering exhale he dropped down in the seat, elbows resting on his knees as he studied his bruised hands. They still throbbed from the impact, the malignant purples and yellows and reds standing out in stark contrast like marble veins against his pale skin. He smirked sardonically; he'd finally acquired his own colours, though not quite the hues he'd yearned to drape on himself, but he numbly figured it was better than nothing.

It hurt to breathe.

There in the quiet safety of his chamber, he tried to sigh in relief.

But just lifting his shoulder felt tender, and he winced at the immediate pain. Being against the world hurt. He managed to slip his coat of office from his shoulders, letting the garment drop to the floor. The material's fall drowned out the sound of his opening door. He felt the shift in the stuffy air, the scent of lilies wafting through his room, surrounding him, filling his lungs. He exhaled forcefully to try to drive her out of his heart, but it was only a half-hearted effort on his part.

"You've been fighting again." It wasn't a question; with him it was a constant, a part of him he couldn't quite change, nor did he ever make an attempt to, not even for her. He cringed, though, at the tinge of disappointment he detected in her voice.

"I was waiting for you for our afternoon tea when the result of your activity walked into my office." Her voice grew closer, and beyond his fists he saw her legs walk into view, and he heard the tinkle of delicate china as she set the tea tray down on the table beside him.

"This time is by far the worst yet."

Still he remained unresponsive, encasing himself against her and what could never be, what she wouldn't allow them to become. He knew he acted petulantly, but he couldn't help himself from what he felt. He burned with different shades of passion, and if he didn't let them erupt out of him, they would consume him.

"What am I to do, Abel? Why do you hate them so? Why are you so against the world?"

He felt the shape of her fingers almost dropping against his hair, and he closed his eyes at the barely-there touch; this was the closest they could ever be. If only she could close that last centimetre gap between them, he could learn to be content, he could—

A soft gasp escaped him as he felt her cool gentle fingers linger over his skin, tracing the jagged lines of his newly acquired colours and pain. He was afraid that it was a dream, that this connection would be gone with the next breath he took. But the pressure of her hands stayed, cupped against his cheeks as she stood in front of him, tilting his head up to gaze at her.

"You know why," he finally answered, voice suddenly rough and rasping. "I can't forgive them…for what they did to us, what they did to you—"

She shook her head at his words. "My barrenness has nothing to do with how they made us. Nature had its way despite their endeavour for perfection, in the same way they couldn't predict nor control Cain's poor eyesight."

_I can't accept that_, he replied in his mind, unable to voice them out.

He felt her gaze skimming over his face, noting the bruises. The air felt stifled as she moved closer, her lips touching gently against his wounds, a new kind of treatment she never dared to bestow before.

_There_, just beneath his eye, and _there_, on the curve of a cheek, and _there_, on the corner of his lips… He turned just a little, to feel her lips against his, just a simple unpressured press, their first kiss long denied.

His hands rose to enclose hers, which still rested against his cheeks, entangling their fingers together, and he felt his heart lift when she didn't immediately draw away, instead deepening the caress, a moan and a sigh escaping from either only to be swallowed up by the other.

She drew away with a gasp, but he tightened his hold on her, unwilling to let her deny the yearning they both felt. _Not yet,_ he pleaded with all of himself. _Please, not yet._

"We can't," she whispered, but it was without conviction. She laid her forehead against his, lips forming words her voice couldn't sound, but he felt his heart expand despite it. Sometimes it was better to let silence reign, as her touch told him everything there was to say.

He felt something settle in his heart as she drew him to her, his head resting against her breast, her cross digging against his chest. With every beat of her heart against his cheek, he felt that he'd found a home at last.

* * *

o-o-o

* * *

**V. _That lift and drop a question on your plate_ **

Abel felt a stirring against his hair, a faint fluttery movement. His heart drummed a speedy beat, and he didn't know whether to jump in elation at the thought that he hadn't lost his brother after all. He raised his head to find Cain looking none the worse for wear, as though the injection of the Crusnik nanomachines was hardly worth any notice, and was instead calmly staring at the ceiling.

"You're awake," said Abel, relief and wonder tingeing his voice, replacing the customary cold edge. "We were beginning to wonder if we'd made the mistake, that we'd ended up killing you instead of saving you." He paused, reaching out to touch his brother's cold hand. "How are you?"

"Hmm," the elder Knightlord sighed, the corner of his mouth turning up in a self-deprecating smirk. "I'm…beyond pain. Newly born and thirsty. I feel like I'm in a new skin, one that fits better." He blinked up at the ceiling before looking over to the side to gaze at Abel. "One that sees the world with clearer eyes, where black and white are the same side to a coin, good and evil are one, there is no difference, there's just the void. And the fire that purifies."

"I don't need those anymore," he continued, gesturing to the spectacles Abel clutched with his other hand. "I never really did. It just seemed like it was easier to bear this world when I wear them, a shield, something between us to set us apart."

Abel withdrew his hand, bewildered.

"You think I'm crazy, don't you?" Cain asked amusedly.

"N-no, not…not at all," Abel stuttered. "It's just that…I didn't know what I was expecting, whether you're really going to be fine or be worse off. But you seem a lot more…" He trailed off, unable to find the word for this situation.

"Do you remember when I said we are not the same anymore?" Cain asked after a long silence passed. "That day when it seemed as though we'd grown too far apart, that I'd lost an important part of me—you—and it seemed as if I could never regain that sense of completeness because you'd left my side."

Abel sat back, astounded. "I'll always be by your side. No matter what."

"Truly? You still feel that way? Somehow I don't feel reassured."

Abel closed his eyes and sighed tiredly. "What do you want from me, Cain?"

"That question is the most dangerous to ask me, Abel." Cain released a small sneer. "But if you must truly know, all of you. Not just a fragment that she allows you to give, but as you were before her. Aren't we brothers? Alike in all ways? Renew yourself and become like me. Merge with the Crusnik nanomachines. I've seen it. Through them, we can have the means and the power. We can be more than what we are.

"We are not fully human, Abel, despite what she says. We're beyond that. We were created as a reflection of what they, our creators, wanted to become. And we can surpass all expectations. We can surpass ourselves. Be the ultimate perfection."

Cain paused, eyes alight with absolute conviction. "Are you with me?"

* * *

Abel didn't know when his view of his 'other half' shifted from Cain to Lilith. As they grew ageless together, it seemed he just woke up to realize that he somehow felt more complete when he was with her than when he was with his brother. Being with Cain was like standing beneath the sun but feeling no warmth. Cain had the brilliance of a clear-cut diamond—smooth, but full of edges and sharpness.

Being with Lilith calmed the stormy winter raging inside him, soothing anger to serenity, a heady drug he couldn't seem to get enough of. It filled him with fire not akin to rage, but a passionate flare he'd willingly give all of himself for. It was just between them, all for only the two of them.

But now here he lay with her in his arms, clasped together like spoons. He wore a frown on his brow, the request that his brother asked of him weighing heavily in his chest. "Do you think I should do it?" he asked her softly.

She stirred, rising to a sitting position, her back towards him. He tightened his hold on her, afraid to let go, and traced a filigree pattern on her skin.

She stroked her hand against the arm holding her, and gave his hand a squeeze. "You've already made your decision," she replied, voice faint in the darkness.

* * *

o-o-o

* * *

**VI. _Time for you and time for me_ **

When the change came, it seemed as though his whole being rebelled against the invasion of this alien entity. Unlike Cain, Abel was sick for a number of days, feeling defiled and desecrated, body and mind curling every which way against the violation.

It seemed it was only bearable because Lilith was there every minute; whether he was stuttering and conscious, or when he finally caught restless sleep, he felt her soft touch against his clammy skin, even as he ached to crawl out of himself and let these aliens take him over. But the things that fused with his body seemed to amplify how he felt her. He just _knew_, even through slumber and nonsensical wakefulness, that she was there watching over him. He felt safer, that he could survive this, just because she was with him.

He never realized how dangerously reliant he'd become.

* * *

When the change came, Lilith was alone. She felt a loneliness so complete and encompassing she couldn't stop the tears or the pain in her heart. It seemed that the present had done nothing but bombard them with things greater than they would ever be: war—between those who returned from Mars and the Knightlord siblings who had sided with them, and the humans still left on a much-changed Earth. Against the power of the Crusniks there was no hope. And Lilith knew that she alone could change that.

She'd always been afraid that there was something out there great enough to tear them apart. That for them, who were created to be perfect, even the idea and possibility of forever was too improbable. When one had reached the pinnacle of perfection, what else was there? What else was left?

She wasn't just afraid to love him; she was afraid to lose him. And now she wanted to bury her heart deep down, a part of her wishing she had never given in to her feelings. All those years of yearning: a heavy weight pushing down on her heart. She could do nothing but curl within herself, and cry for all things lost.

Lilith never knew that Abel was standing on the other side of the glass window, watching her, sharing her sorrow.

* * *

o-o-o

* * *

**VII. _And time yet for a hundred indecisions_ **

Abel could not help himself. He knew he shouldn't be here in the enemy territory, visiting their greatest opponent. He knew Cain would comment about their 'negative element' with abounding sarcasm, but Abel could bear it. It was the call in his heart that he couldn't ignore anymore.

Lilith stood in the spacious room, seemingly small and fragile, the toll of war and separation settled clearly on the way her mouth was pursed and on the frown lines that marked her forehead. Her arms were over her middle, a gesture that quite evidently showed that she was keeping herself from him.

Her lips formed his name in a barely discernible whisper, but due to heightened senses the nanomachines bestowed on him he heard it, and felt the constriction around his heart ease a little.

He longed to go to her, to touch those sinewy limbs he'd had a hundred years to etch in his memory, to take her into himself, to relish her autumnal colours draping on his wintry skin. But he was held fast to where he stood, made immobile by her gaze, and he couldn't cross the abyss between them.

"I'm pr…" she began, but the rest hurried and blocked her throat, and she couldn't say anything more. How could she tell him of the evil she felt inside her? Both of them were no strangers to the impossible, but…

Abel watched her eyes; over their years together he'd learned what each nuance and change meant. But with this war, they found themselves on either side of a chasm, too vast and too deep to be bridged over, and he regretted how their differing convictions were too great, big enough to tear them apart. He missed the closeness they shared, the secrets they never kept from each other, and he was disheartened to find one now lingering in her eyes. He saw her decision not to tell him colour those eyes a deep amber, and he felt her grow farther away from him.

"Thank you for visiting me," Lilith said finally to abate the awkward silence that descended between them.

He nodded, the hundred other things he wanted to say and do to her dissolving away with that seemingly dismissive tone. He turned, walking back to the balcony doors, and paused as he passed the threshold. "I missed you," he whispered, at last managing to voice the compulsion that brought him there, before disappearing into the night on dark wings.

* * *

o-o-o

* * *

**VIII. _And for a hundred visions and revisions_ **

It was a vision Abel would never forget: Cain wore a triumphant smirk as he exultantly boasted his victory. "_I've finally removed all negative elements."_ He waved the severed head, a trophy of the enemy he'd finally conquered; after all those years of secretly struggling to turn her against his brother, and then the recent devastating war, he'd finally proven himself the dominant one.

And all Abel saw was his dreams dissolving away, his heart shattering to pieces, insufferable denial contradicted by the sight of the ultimate absolute truth: she was gone. So far away that he could never ever follow no matter how much he longed to. And through that haze, a rage so strong rose in him, a thunder that took over him, and he was blinded by it except for the need to thoroughly destroy the one who so easily destroyed him. He didn't know anymore whose face he wore: the Crusnik or himself. And even after his brother's fall from a higher plane than heaven, it wasn't enough to satisfy the burning constant need. All he was left with were pieces, his heart and Lilith.

Feeling empty then as alone he carried her down and laid her out, together for the rest of what could have been their forever, the final revision in himself as he vowed to protect what she had been fighting for. After all, the weary world that he so hated before was all that was left of her.

* * *

Father Abel Nightroad remembered clearly that emptiness that once again filled him. This one constant he held in his heart was once more gone, torn from his grasp, and all he could feel was utter helplessness, immobile once more, blood freezing in his veins. _This is how it feels to die again_, he thought. _This is how the world ends._ He willed his eyes to lie, to let him see what he wasn't seeing, for this ancient tomb to be filled with the remnants of his buried past and still shattered heart. _Not with a bang but a whimper_.

He heard the trickle of tiny voices whispering inside him, filling his emptiness with their promises of fulfilment. _Let us in_, they goaded. _We are your salvation. Let us in. We…you and I, all of us…we will avenge this lost one_. Whiteness filled him, rendered him blind, controlled only by rage, and worry for something he had trouble naming.

* * *

o-o-o

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End note(s):

This chapter was quite influenced by T. S. Eliot. "This is how the world ends/Not with a bang but a whimper" comes from his poem "The Hollow Men" (first published 1925). Each section's headings make up part of a stanza from "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" (1915). Likewise, the chapter title is sort of a play from one of the poem's lines, "I shall measure out my life with coffee spoons," which, supposedly being about Abel, had to be changed to the more appropriate tea.

Other works that also influenced this chapter is _The Silver Kiss_ by Annette Curtis Klause; a little bit of Shakespeare's _Richard III_, _Romeo and Juliet_, and _The Tempest_; Jane Yolen and Patricia McKillip.

Thanks for reading :) More soon (but not too soon, I don't think)…  
Dec/2006


	4. What do I get for my pain?

Disclaimer: Trinity Blood does not belong to me.

Thanks to those who've read and/or reviewed chapter 3 :)

Whoa. Colour me wrong. This didn't take 2 months to write like chapter 3 did. Only a few days…but, mind you, I had to write about a lot of things regarding the past in chapter 3 before I can move forward in the main storyline, and there's actually quite a bit of other stuff I didn't get to include (but they might get reincarnated as Interludes later on, maybe, if they still make sense and not just be overkill).

Edited Jan/2009: Thanks to DarkScrivener for beta reading.

* * *

Chapter 4: _The world is a vampire, sent to drain  
Secret destroyers, hold you up to the flames  
And what do I get for my pain?  
Betrayed desires, and a piece of the game_  
— Smashing Pumpkins, "Bullet with Butterfly Wings"

In a darkened room, disembodied ethereal music played. Mournful cello swept and strained a dirge lamenting losses while a figure danced, limbs swaying in tune, graceful and lithe. From one end of the hallowed marble floor, it waltzed, it pirouetted, it expressed its loneliness through sinewy fluidity, somehow simultaneously elegiac and elated.

At the top of the vast staircase that bordered the end of the hall, a figure in black watched the dancer. His young delicate face was awash with wonder and pride, the very epitome of one enthralled by the figure below him. _Adore_ was a word he used quite often to describe how he felt for someone who so easily fell prey to his charms and manipulations. Within his black heart, that was all he knew he could bestow. And now adoration came over him as this figure swayed with the ebb and flow of music, putting on a show with just him as the special spectator.

How ironic was it, Dietrich von Lohengrin thought amusedly, to have such a kindred obsession with his Master's kin. He didn't know what it was that reminded him of his beloved Esther, for where the new Queen of Albion was petite, pale and retained such innocent blue eyes despite his constant unceasing devilry, his new doll-dancer was willowy and dark, fully grown into womanhood.

It was an uncustomary sigh that escaped him at the thought of Londinium. He was betrayed by his Master—but treachery in itself was a way of life in the Rosen Creutz Orden, and he'd accorded his share to enemies and allies alike. He had barely been able to escape from the whims of his Master, only managing by a small margin to salvage his soul into his true body when the Master destroyed his old one, plunging a hole through his doppelgänger's stomach as Contra Mundi finally came face to face with his Vatican counterpart. Dietrich had afterwards staggered helplessly, made a wanderer, tossing this latest death experience along with the others he'd undergone whether in his own body or in one under his control, and had found it quite droll to discover that the best haven for him to recuperate in was the sanctuary of the church.

Of course, being the shadow creature that he was, he knew that in order to better restore himself he would have to do it in absolute secrecy, hidden from the rest of the world. It would be unwise to declare that he had become so weak he needed the help of others.

It had amused him to no end to find himself at the heart of the enemy's territory, beneath in the vast city of catacombs that paralleled the Holy City itself, much like the Ghetto of Londinium. How fitting, he had thought, for the nearly dead to find rest among those who have already passed on, surrounded by memento morī, reminding him of his own mortality. And it was there through his idle perambulations that he had found his new doll sepulchred from the world, the very picture of a slumbering, forested beauty still waiting for her prince to kiss her awake, and he couldn't resist. He felt an unusual tug in his chest, a fierce longing to see those eternally closed eyes opened, and he could do nothing but answer to that yearning, and wrested it from its resting place.

And what better way to test his regained power over the dead than towards one who was so perfectly preserved? It couldn't have been the hermetically-sealed glass coffin (an obvious vestige of Lost Technology whose controls Dietrich had so easily decrypted) that had kept the body in its almost-living appearance—no machine was that perfect, and no method of mummification could ever result in the absolute intactness that the body had…. Perhaps it was divine interference, to have kept the perfect even more so even in death.

And now here they were, the Puppet Master with a new victim entangled in his strings, with absolute control at his disposal. Here was his chance to build such a weapon that surpassed even his Auto-Jaeger. Here was beauty in its most deadly form, and he couldn't wait to unleash it upon the world in his Master's name.

He smiled, heart inflating at what was about to come, the apotheosis of his genius. So utterly lost was he that he did not realize he was joined by another with an even blacker heart.

"Hmm, it seems you've acquired a new toy, Herr von Lohengrin," from a deeper darkness came the sneering voice of Isaak von Kämpfer, second in power of the Rosen Creutz Orden. "Indeed, you've been quite elusive, and now I can see why." He materialized from the shadow beside Dietrich, blowing a puff of smoke from his cigarette.

"Panzermagier, I did not sense you," remarked Dietrich, utterly composed despite the surprise that momentarily quickened his pulse.

"Dear boy, you must be getting soft."

"Indeed."

Von Kämpfer's eyes trained to the figure below them, still dancing its way in the dark. "But what an exquisite find. I must say you've outdone yourself with this new doll, Puppet Master. That exotic flare, suggestive of the rarer breed of Methuselah, is quite a nice touch. I can't seem to tear my eyes off of it. I commend you."

Dietrich gave a curt nod in assent. "It is aimed to please our Master."

"May I?" von Kämpfer gestured to the doll.

"But of course," said Dietrich, and with an idle wave of his hand the music and the figure stopped, limbs slackened haphazardly like an abandoned marionette, left hanging with head bowed in a position of one crucified.

"I've taken to calling it 'Eurydice,'" continued Dietrich absentmindedly. "It seemed fitting somehow, as of someone too perfect to last in this world, but for whom anyone would dare hell and high water to regain. Quite prophetic and fatal, wouldn't you say?"

Von Kämpfer gave no sign that he heard, continuing to descend the staircase, pausing briefly to ground his cigarette on the floor with his polished shoe, and made his way to the doll. His face was an imperturbable mask as he lifted his hands to the doll's head, raising its face towards him, tracing the jewel that graced its forehead, running his hands through its long hair. A thought crossed his mind as he examined the doll's garment, but he quickly dismissed it, keeping such perusal to himself to examine further when he was alone.

With the Puppet Master, von Kämpfer had learned that such a countenance of innocence bore an equal amount of malicious mischievousness and malignant ingeniousness, which made Dietrich all the more indispensable to the Orden, and which filled Isaak with a somewhat paternal pride—truly an angel with the heart of the devil, was Herr von Lohengrin.

However…surely Dietrich had some inkling of just what exactly it was he had ensnared in his clutches?

Isaak embraced the doll and kissed its forehead, feeling the skin beneath his lips to be unusually warm, a temperature unbecoming of the dead. But it was no matter, thought Isaak. The ultimate judge of the doll's usefulness would be decided in a matter of moments when their Master deigned to let his presence be known.

"I must admit, Puppet Master, that I've a mind to keep this as my own," admitted von Kämpfer lazily, sending a smirk up to Dietrich as he cradled the doll closer to his chest

"Indeed?"

"But it might prove more useful if this were to stay in your control. I'm quite elated to see how it will perform for our order."

"Tricksters are we to the very marrow, Panzermagier," replied Dietrich, his own smirk a perfect imitation of Isaak's. "I'm sure you'll find the performance, when finally the curtain rises, to be more than adequate and certainly quite engaging."

"Curiouser and curiouser," interjected a soft and unyielding voice, and a figure of light and magnificence melted from the dark, an expression of vague attentiveness gracing its features.

"Methuselah," the newcomer continued, "in this area are rather scarce, my appetite is far from whetted." He gazed up at the top of the staircase to where Dietrich still stood. "Ah, the prodigal child found at last. I see you've fared well, though I daresay your digestion shouldn't be as troublesome now that I've fixed it for you." He gave a little cruel laugh at his own joke.

He turned his head towards his raven-haired companion, smile faltering slightly as he saw him clutching something to his breast. "And what is that thing barnacled to you?"

Isaak's eyes lit up with an inscrutable light. "A new invention from the Puppet Master, mein Herr. A gift for you."

Cain Knightlord raised an eyebrow, his interest piqued despite himself. The doll was turned away from him, clad in some sort of attire similar to his, and all he could see was the heavy red locks falling down its back. He narrowed his eyes, feeling his pulse quicken in sudden denial and ardent disbelief, but overpowered by inflexible and uncompromising wrath. At once he violently wrenched the figure from von Kämpfer's hold, and fiercely ripped the high collar from around the doll's neck.

He stared, incredulous, at the blood that dripped from the deep gashes made by his claws—which was slowly but surely being healed in front of his eyes—and at the seamless skin of its throat—the inexorable evidence negating his act of decapitation from nine-hundred years ago.

* * *

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Acknowledgement(s): reference to _Alice in Wonderland_ by Lewis Carroll.

Thanks for reading :) More soon…  
Dec/2006


	5. The reason for my life

Disclaimer: Trinity Blood does not belong to me.

Happy New Year!!!

Thanks to those who've read the previous chapter, and most especially to those who've reviewed :)

Any errors or characters being OOC is my fault.

Edited Feb/2009: Thanks to DarkScrivener for beta reading.

* * *

Chapter 5: _Open up my eyes  
To dreams that should have died  
I was made for more than this _

_Take away my name  
For I will never be the same  
I have not begun to live_

_A criminal's reward  
Is all that I lived for  
Until these broken years were healed_

_The shadows of a shattered life  
Only returns to light_  
— Trading Yesterday, "Revolution"

* * *

The anger was ancient, borne from a reason long forgotten, the weight of the passing years burying it into the deepest recesses of his mind until he no longer knew that there ever had been one: the residual feeling was all that mattered. The transformation was instantaneous: offset by static electricity his hair rose, meandering to a point beyond his crown, and on both hands the lance comprised of nanomachines materialized, and Cain Knightlord saw himself re-enacting the deathblow from nine-hundred years ago that had changed the course of all the Knightlord siblings' lives.

_In the silent backdrop of space, the stars seemed to shine brighter against the black immutable wall, an ordained moment as though even the gods approved of this cataclysmic change about to happen. The walls of the Ark were sterile white, offset by the sporadic bright lights of the computers surrounding them, and the only sounds were the timid beeps of the machines and their own bated breaths. Cain Knightlord and the negative element were both bloody and weakened, locked in a duel to the death and for his brother's soul. He wore the face of treachery: it was peace he wanted, but not for the world. For the peace he craved for his brother's mind it was a necessity for her to be gone from their lives. It was the only way. And nothing could stop him from achieving that goal. It was all for Abel._

_He and the negative element were angels of absolute conviction: their once-pristine coats of office ripped and drenched with blood and viscera, the nanomachines working at their utmost to repair the physical damages they had inflicted on each other; wings outspread, claws extended, eyes glowing crimson-red. The masks of bred leaders, the purposely created, were cracked, fallen away to reveal how this war between them was just for them and not for the world._

_His face took on a serene visage, a benign smile resting on his lips as he held steady the lance between his hands. A new fire ignited in his eyes; he still had strength left as he could see her own ebbing away._

_There was something in her gaze he couldn't begin to name: acceptance? Defeat? And something else that wasn't meant for him but for whom they fought for. What could it really matter now? They both knew this was the end. _

_The swinging of his lance was the deciding factor: swift and true as it loped off her head, and he had never felt such utter satisfaction as when he saw that insurmountable length of hair swirling grotesquely and entangling around her head before landing at his feet. For the briefest of moments her body remained genuflected: one last bout of repentance for stealing his brother, or acknowledgement of his victory—it mattered not. All he knew in that instant was that he had finally removed her and her sordid influence from his brother's life. The negative element was truly gone._

_The laughter that erupted out of him was exultant, encompassing. He felt as though he had never known true happiness until that moment, that no other achievement could ever exceed this ultimate feat. _

And now here they were once again. The once-dead seemingly not so. Beheading her and draining her of the nanomachines didn't seem to be sufficient—or maybe he hadn't truly taken them all within himself, that a small residue still resided in her for all these years, not enough to keep her fully alive but enough to keep her dormant, enough to heal but not to awaken.

She lay where he'd dropped her, and he raised the lance to deal another final blow, this time with all the intention to mince her down to her very atoms to prevent further restoration. A yell filled the cavernous hall as the lance swung down at the prone figure in a graceful and deadly arc.

* * *

The heavy blood-red scythe hovered over the glass coffin, only inches away from razing the last remembrance Abel Nightroad had of his past.

He panted at the weight over his heart, at the realization of what he was about to do. He had surrendered to the susurrations inside of him, about to sunder himself and the vestige of past he still clung to as his first act of vengeance. He closed his eyes, shoulders slumping in dejection. He didn't know if he should berate himself for the failed act or for his constant wallowing over what he had lost.

The momentary strength and whispers of the Crusnik left him. The scythe dissolved, his raised hair fell to linger down his face. He couldn't destroy his monument to the dead; it had been the only thing he had left of her, and now she was gone again. If he ever succeeded in destroying her place of rest, where could he return her to should he find her again? No peace would ever settle in his heart. He would find no rest for himself, and the redemption he so ardently sought would forever be beyond his reach.

Abel slumped down to his knees and rested his forehead against the empty coffin. His body settled into the familiar pose quite easily as though he had never left for more than a decade. Then the tears came, a torrential downpour, harder and encumbered by all the moments that he had never bothered to think of her at all, however burdened he was by the promise he made to her. He had forgotten his place, to what brought him to spend the rest of his days alone and repenting. He had forgotten Lilith, however heavy the cross he bore as a reminder of her, what she had been to him, what she still was in his heart.

It was a sin that he could never forgive himself for.

He was brought back to his former self. How young and naïve and selfish he had been then. How he felt he could crush the world with his fingertips, destroy everything in his path until all that was left were him and her. But that was not Lilith's way, had never been. All she had wanted was to create, breathe new life into the world, let it linger as it had always done. He remembered her sorrow at the knowledge that she herself could not bring life to fruition, and his subsequent ache in knowing there was nothing he could do to ease that anguish. That was the only time he hadn't wanted to be selfish; he'd wanted to give all of himself for her, to lay the world at her feet, to look on her ripe belly full of their love.

How he had been torn by his love for Cain and Lilith: the brother he'd vowed to follow and the woman who had never asked him of anything until the end. But how could he have denied his true self when he hadn't known what it was he'd truly wanted? With Cain, he had a tentative freedom, the kind he could not harbour within himself when he was around Lilith. How could he find redemption through vengeance when he knew she would not approve of it? He once again found himself with a question from the past: which of them truly took precedence over him?

Abel picked up the round spectacles he'd dropped to the ground. _And so we hide_, he ruefully thought to himself. _But now I wear a different mask, even hiding from myself._

He fisted his hand around the glasses, but not enough to crush. _I will find you. I'll bring you back. And promise or no promise, I'll…_

He donned the lenses, his face immediately adopting the demeanour of the clumsy, absentminded but well-meaning priest. He clutched the cross around his neck, bringing it up to his lips to kiss, and gave the empty tomb one last lingering gaze. With a final heavy sigh he turned away and walked the dark path back up to where Ion Fortuna still waited.

* * *

Dashed.

Dietrich had found himself closing his eyes tightly, unable to watch his Master's deed of destruction when usually he would've enjoyed such a sight. He could've done something: used his wires to pull the doll to safety, cried out in opposition to the additional desecration against the body (notwithstanding his own graverobbing), but he knew what the price would be. He would truly lose his life, and this time there would be nowhere for him to escape to. The doll would have been his ascension back into his Master's grace, a welcome back into the fold to redeem him from his past failures in destroying the enemy. But that hope, however minuscule and inconsequentially treated by him, was being dashed now.

But ultimately, remorse had never been his way. It wasn't in him to feel such a thing. However much his wires connected him to his victims where he could feel all the pain inflicted upon them, he could ignore their cries and revel in their suffering. But somehow, with this doll he could feel a piece of his hard heart being pierced, allowing him a modicum of despair.

He had seen how his Master had transformed from detachment to wrath just at the sight of the doll. But how could he have known that the living corpse harboured such a connection with Contra Mundi?

Dietrich heard the yell morph into laughter, but not the pounding of the nanomachine-made lance as it impacted on the body and the ground. He held his breath, willing his heart to truly stop beating for he knew it would only be a few moments before his own end. He knew that lance was on its way into his heart as soon as the carnage was done.

The laughter transformed into cackles, crazed and unusually desperate, interjected here and there by uncharacteristic sobs, and Dietrich dared to open an eye.

* * *

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End note(s):  
Chapter title is also from Trading Yesterday's song "Revolution" (wasn't able to fit the whole line :\ )

Thanks for reading :) More soon…  
Jan/2007


	6. Not Her

Disclaimer: Trinity Blood does not belong to me.

I just want to apologize that the RCO members will be down to the trinity of the father (Isaak), the son (Dietrich), and the spirit (Cain) because I don't know enough about the other RCO characters… the manga and novels currently published in English haven't gotten that far yet.

Edited Feb/2009: Thanks to DarkScrivener for beta reading.

* * *

Chapter 6: _And now I speak to you are you in there  
You have her face and her eyes but you are not her_  
— Tori Amos, "Bells for Her"

* * *

Dietrich saw Isaak calmly take a puff of his cigarette, exhaling the smoke out of his mouth quite leisurely, expression betraying none of the thoughts churning in his mind. Dietrich opened his other eye and slowly moved his gaze to the figure at the older man's feet. The body seemed intact, and the figure in white still hovered above it, weaponless, domineering, jubilant. He swallowed, taking in the scene but not knowing quite where he stood in the current situation.

Cain's laughter dwindled, and his voice was lilting as it rang across the hall. "I do not see myself in you, pure mother," he addressed the doll with his head tilted, a smile in his voice. He straightened, raising his head up to look at the ceiling. "You felt it too, didn't you, Panzermagier? The force of such power, such hunger. There's something that kept her this way, waiting, waiting, insatiable. I had cut off her head, drained her of the Crusnik, but behold!" Cain bent forward and raised the doll's head by a handful of hair. "Here she is."

He sneered, his beauty marred by malignancy, as he continued addressing von Kämpfer. "I do not desire to merge with her, but whatever kept her this way, I want it. We may have use for her yet." His face became that of a seraph once more, the curve spreading on his lips offset by the fangs that slid from their sheaths, his eyes igniting with a manic light.

"She will be the one to renew the world through _our_ fire."

He looked down once more at the body, turning the head this way and that, entangling his claws through the hair and pulling the head back harshly as he spoke, "You wouldn't like that, would you? Pure mother? Negative element? The healer out of the four of us, always the saviour, the martyr. I hold your fate in my hands. These hands that had once slain you will now grant you life and pull the strings of your fate, our very own puppet. Why, just the thought of 02's face when he sees you…" Cain's expression was benign, looking for all the world like an angel about to unleash the wrath of its god.

"Puppet master."

Dietrich started, eyes still on the mesmerizing figure of Cain. "Mein Herr?"

"I will leave this in your care once she's awakened." Cain looked over his shoulder to gaze at the younger man still standing on the stairs, throwing the corpse towards him to land at the foot of the staircase, limbs askew like a rag doll. "Do not fail me again."

Dietrich bowed his head, subservient and mildly relieved. He couldn't help but still feel unnerved, as though an invisible guillotine blade hovered over his neck, ready to nip at any given moment.

* * *

The gibbous moon shone, its light lost amid the lamps lit throughout the Holy City. The garden that lay beyond the catacomb entrance was the only place bathed beneath the moon's silver filigree, the roses and lilies opening up as though facing the sun. Beside the moon floated a misshapen orb, as mysterious and alluring, reflecting the light of the sun down on earth, imitating the natural satellite beside it.

In the half-light, half-shadow of the cave mouth a Methuselah noble crouched, his eyebrows set in a frown, his very marrows screaming against the unbecoming pose. But he felt he was choiceless in the matter: however silently he and Abel Nightroad approached this place within the Vatican, they weren't practicing stealth and their arrival would've been noticed and alarms resounded. It was just a matter of time and opportunity before they were caught.

It was well into the evening when Abel Nightroad surfaced from the catacomb. He walked into the small light provided by the moon at the doorway, the luminous brightness reflected off his glasses. There was an air about him, a sadness that seemed so encompassing that the Methuselah wondered how he wasn't suffocated by it.

"Was your visit successful?" he asked tentatively.

"No."

The curiosity dug at Ion's mind, incessant like an itch. He opened his mouth, not knowing exactly what he ought to say when Abel continued.

"I've lost something. I've lost her long before now but…" he sighed, wearily and with the heaviness of centuries. "I thought she would be safe here, and she _had been_, until…" He clutched at the cross that hung around his neck, the metallic thorns digging into his palm, the ornaments leaving an imprint on his skin. "There is nothing sacred, not that there ever had been. I don't really know what to think. Her empty tomb leaves my mind as empty, and I want to do nothing else but to grieve again."

"S-someone stole a body?"

"Yes…maybe…I do not know. She couldn't very well have walked out of there. She couldn't have disintegrated, there would've been ashes…something…left over. She couldn't have dissipated in that airless coffin. I've stayed by her side that I hadn't known time passed for so long. Dead is dead. I couldn't bear to look anymore. She is not there." He swallowed, lips uncustomarily trembling until with a deep breath he found his resolve, determination settling in him as he straightened his spine, his gaze distant into the far off malformed moon. "But she is somewhere. She has to be. And that is the place where I must be. To put her to rest again, for that is all I can give her.

"I'm not asking you to accompany me on what could turn out to be a fool's quest, Your Excellenc—"

"I'll go with you, regardless. If you'll still allow me?"

"As you will, Your Excellency." Abel conceded, lowering his head as though bowing.

* * *

In a dark, cavernous chamber lit only by four wax candles, the shadows stretched, encompassing, hovering, converging in a formless dance with each swell and flicker of the light. At the centre of the immeasurable expanse of the chamber there stood over a pentagram a transparent cylinder, its glass imprinted with magic runes and alchemical sigils. Within was a figure submerged in Lethe's Water, from the River of Forgetfulness, naked and curled like a foetus, long hair the colour of blood floating around it, entangled with wires pinched into the skin of the figure.

Beyond the glass surface a man watched with narrowed eyes, calculating, assessing, trying to arrive at a viable conclusion to the mystery provided by Dietrich's doll. _Project Eurydice_ was underway.

He blew the smoke out of his lungs, keeping his lips pursed long after he'd exhaled, lost in contemplation: _Expire. Inspire. Respire. Derivations from the Latin spiritus: spirit, wind, breath—the necessities for a living birth._

"Isn't it a marvel?" Cain's voice was gentle, prying through von Kämpfer's thoughts effortlessly, pride and euphoria lighting his face. "How now, Lilith? About to be born from another tube…how oddly fitting. Back where you began. Where the four of us began."

Still looking at the doll, Cain addressed the black-haired man. "Isaak, have you any words to say for this monumental moment?"

Von Kämpfer dropped the cigarette and ground it beneath his boot. "It just struck me, mein Herr, what's to befall us should we succeed in giving your brother back his heart. It will be through her that we can finally have him in our grasp."

"That is truly a cause for rejoicing. There is nothing else that I long for except to have him by my side once more. Fighting against him is just so unbecoming, rather childish."

"Indeed, mein Herr. That wish will soon be fulfilled. Imagine how powerful an ally he could be. Surely he will come to our side once he sees his heart in our midst. Both you and your brother's wishes will be granted."

"Hmm. Tell me, Isaak. How is our dear negative element? Look at her. Isn't it absolutely profound? We, the creatures of forever, could never really die. Here she is, the proof. I've killed her. I've taken her nanomachines, the very streams of our lives. But here she is with her head attached to her body as though the killing never was."

"…"

"And yet, was my plight all that truly different? The fall from heaven, ensnared by fire beyond scorching, leaving me in cinders. And I, alive through it all, but still incomplete." He sighed, unusually morose. "But indeed, there is nothing in the universe more indestructible than the Crusnik. She and I are proof of it.

"Pouring liquid from a gourd does not necessarily empty it. There will be drops still adhering to the inner surface. And sometimes that one drop could be enough to define its former container as not empty. Well, Isaak, what have you to say?"

"You are very astute, mein Herr," replied Isaak. "What I have discovered upon closer examination is that a great deal of the nanomachines converge here," he continued, indicating the area around the doll's belly. "The nanomachines are reproducing there."

Cain's eyes narrowed in disbelief. "That's impossible," he whispered. "When the Crusnik nanomachines were discovered in Mars so long ago we conducted innumerable experiments on them, and we failed to get them to reproduce by themselves. They cannot be replicated through natural or unnatural means."

"But _these_ have, mein Herr. Like all biological or semibiological elements, they've found a way to survive and prolong themselves." Isaak paused to light another cigarette. "She is with child, mein Herr. Through a nine-hundred year gestation period it has remained an inchoate embryo, dormant as its host is dormant. But it is through this still unformed being and the remaining nanomachines that she was kept alive."

"'With child,'" Cain spat. "She was barren, Isaak. It sickened me to see 02 pity her, but conception between them had never been possible because of this imperfection."

Isaak lowered his head. "I can only conclude, mein Herr, that since the nanomachines found yourselves to be more than adequate symbionts, they've further changed the chemical makeup of your bodies to suit themselves as well as their hosts. Mating between the enhanced humans enabled the nanomachines to create an environment wherein they can replicate themselves.

"Imagine, mein Herr. A child made purely of Crusnik. There is no other perfect vessel for your own regeneration, not even your brother."

Cain grew silent, thoughts unreadable in his cold blue eyes. He gazed once more at the figure floating in the tank, eyes narrowing towards the doll's belly, lost in a faraway memory. After a long moment he spoke, "Assuming your presumptions are correct, Isaak…the Armageddon we had unleashed did not leave enough room or time for its two greatest enemies to procreate. Certainly not during our meeting for the treaty of peace. It disgusts me to think on this, but that would leave the day when she bade us goodbye to side with the enemy as the likeliest time. I had known he'd begged her to stay. I just hadn't realized how this beggary took place. He was rather upset when she broke from his arms.

"And that look in her eyes just before I cut her…." He shook his head at what he had realized. "She allowed herself to be killed. She didn't want to unleash _this_ upon the world." He scoffed, his lips adopting a domineering sneer. "Well, Lilith dear, that sacrifice was for naught."

He turned to Isaak, fixing the other man with a cold unyielding gaze. "Time is not standing still for us, Panzermagier. Do everything necessary to awaken her."

Von Kämpfer bowed his head, keeping it lowered until Cain Knightlord had left him with the doll in the dark. Only then did he allow himself to reply.

"There is no guarantee, Contra Mundi, what her state will be if—_once_—we succeed in awakening her."

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End note(s):  
I borrowed a line from another fic I wrote for HP (it was a rather nice line and couldn't help but reuse it XP )

PS: Sorry it took so long…14 months. This was actually all written by March '07 but I wasn't happy with it, and am still not even after I snipped off a good chunk (1500 words), so will probably be edited at another time.

Thanks for reading :) More soon…  
Mar/2008


	7. No connection to myself

Trinity Blood does not belong to me.

I hope the switching PoV's in this chapter isn't confusing.

Edited Feb/2009: Thanks to DarkScrivener for beta reading.

* * *

Chapter 7: _My reflection, dirty mirror  
There's no connection to myself_  
— Smashing Pumpkins, "Zero"

* * *

She stared at the lance hovering above her, feeling despair but also relief, her thoughts always of others' safety. Better for her to be gone now than be the one to unleash something dangerous and unknown upon the world. _Holy mother indeed_, she thought sardonically. She couldn't be that person, that figure, after all that she had done to save the world.

In these last nanoseconds of her life, watching the blade descend, the weight of the world's survival was heavier than love in her heart. Personal wasn't the same as important. Sacrificing yourself meant pushing from the forefront the thing that meant the most to you, hurting that one person in order to save all. _I'm sorry, Abel_, she thought, a tear falling from her eye, a hand ascending to hold her still-flat belly, unwilling to let regret pool in her chest. _I hope you can forgive me. My death is necessary_.

* * *

_You became aware. You were nothing a moment before, and now you_ were. _Newly born into the world amid the afterbirth that consisted of broken glass, tangled wires, and spilled water. You lay drenched on the floor, nothing but your heavy hair to cover you. _

_You were neither cold nor warm. You felt heady, numb. You became conscious of the slowly steadying beat of your heart, the throbbing of the pulse in your neck and wrists, the breaths that escaped from your open mouth. Within, you felt the susurrations of something else that awoke with you, a part of you, but separate. Your awareness started extending to your limbs, pins and needles prickling all over your body, and you felt yourself tensing against it, willing yourself to ebb away that annoying sensation until it finally did so. Your muscles now felt smooth, controllable, despite their lengthy disuse. _

_The dense air tingled your skin, stroked against the infinitesimal downy hair on your body, but you disregarded it. You had a voice, husky from long disuse, the beginnings of a sound vibrating within your throat, but you curbed it, considered it an unimportant matter to express words or feelings that you knew had no connection to you. No scream would issue from your chest, no cry would you allow to pass your lips. You came to be. You were here. You did not know what or who you were, and you did not care about how you just came to exist at this very moment. _

_Beyond, you heard bated breaths on the verge of a gasp, an exhale, an exclamation. The knowledge came to you, how to signal your body to obey movement, and heavily your eyes finally opened, lashes brushing against the hair that curtained your face, and with a trembling hand you parted that veil. _

_It was dark but for the three candles that burned around you, not too bright to make you flinch, but enough to dilate the pupils within those eyes that hadn't seen light in so long. _

_Just a little past the burning light, you could distinguish three figures in varying states of curiosity, marvel, a little taste of fear, and pride. _

* * *

In silver filigree along the wall the sign bore the words "Covenant". She was underground; what had been catacombs had been converted into a secret haven for humans to offer themselves to Methuselah. She felt Dietrich's threads leading her along the cavernous corridors, candlelight writhing along with the figures reclining over the various surrounding surfaces.

She wore a simple grey shift, hanging loosely upon her form, no black, ornamented Rozen Creutz uniform for her per Cain's decree. Feet bare, but surefooted, as she walked down the aisle, taking in her surroundings with an unusual expression very different from her usual indifference.

* * *

_In another room, brightly lit, the three of them sat you down in a reclining chair, wires protruding from your skin. You heard the constant beeping of machines, and their voices, soft and scheming. _

"_Her vitals are stable," said the one with the long, dark hair. "These scans are showing that all of her is functional, even the Crusnik nanomachines. Of what she is carrying, however…it is inconclusive. Crusniks are rare as it is, and their offspring is unheard of, and most especially unimagined. I do not know yet what further tests would indicate…_

"_As to the state of her mind, mein Herr, we are successful. Her extensive submersion in the water from the River of Forgetfulness rendered her mind a clean slate_, tabula rasa. _She is without memory. She is of the Orden's to control as she possesses no conscience or memories or will. Mein Herr, we have in our clutches the perfect killing doll." _

* * *

The musky smell of blood tinged the air, and she felt the susurrations of the nanomachines inside her stir. She watched bodies convulse in this secret place of decadence, human and Methuselah intertwined in shared ecstasy. She let her gaze wander the dimly lit place, until a shock of silver hair and pale skin caught her eye. She tried to conjure up a reason or memory of why she was drawn to this image, but she brushed it aside almost immediately, just letting instinct rule her as she drew close to the figure.

* * *

_You were nameless, but for a title they bestowed upon you:_ Eurydice. _They mentioned the word in a tone laced with a modicum of mockery. They told you a story: a new husband so soon made a widower as his new wife was killed by a serpent's bite upon her ankle. The husband in despair descended to Hades to try to retrieve her, and against impossibilities, succeeded. The rulers of the underworld gave him one condition: that he never once look behind him to make sure she followed him back up into the world. The road was long, and the journey was silent. Barely gracing the cavemouth of the surface did he finally give in to the persistent curiosity nagging at him. He looked back, to find her faithfully there but unable to cross that last step because he turned too soon, this hapless Orpheus. _

_But it was meaningless to you. _

_They made you don a garment similar to the pale man with the sunny hair, not quite white with a high collar and long sleeves, and metallic wristbands engraved with "Lilith Sahl" in wide, bold font. They stood you in front of a mirror, and you saw their proud expressions through the reflection, but of seeing yourself for the first time, you felt as detached as when you'd awoken. Almost curiously, you touched the bindi on your forehead, then stared at that same hand you held up, only now realizing the henna marks gracing your skin. For a very small moment, you wondered whose body you wore. _

* * *

The Methuselah male that captivated her threw his head back, writhing, blood dripping from his mouth, and she licked her lips as though she could taste the metallic tang. He opened his eyes as he felt the weight of her stare. He beckoned her to him, and slowly she approached as though hypnotized. He took her hand almost lovingly, caressing the tattoo over her soft skin as he pulled her down to him. She noted the contrast of her skin against his, let his short white hair splay through the fingers of her other hand, before quickly swiping her nail against his throat. He never had the time to appear surprised at all as she watched his blood spill from the wound, barely dripping down his chest before being consumed by Crusnik 04. Her transformation had been instantaneous and instinctive for this first feeding after a fast that lasted nine-hundred years.

* * *

_The golden one's face was almost hypnotic to you. Your gaze was always drawn to it, but in the deep pit of what amounted to your conviction, you knew there was something lacking there, something that made him not quite familiar: his hair the wrong colour, maybe? Or parted differently? _

_And no sooner had this speculation formed before you summarily dismissed it. To you it was nothing more than a lapse. Your thoughts, however few you had them, were insubstantial and of no consequence for one who had no identity. _

_How could any of your actions be against your will, when you had no will to speak of? _

_You felt this thin, fragile lifeline, felt the pulse of it against your nerves, connecting you to the young one, angelic but for the devil's smile. What you knew that he hadn't realized was just how very easy these threads were to break. You knew your power, and yet you allowed him control over you, for what else was there for you to do? You had no desire: to break free, to be free, not even to_ be.

* * *

From that first kill followed wave after wave. The nanomachines materialized on their own without vocal authorization, but she cared not for the ceremony. Left and right, the weapon swung in her hands, indiscriminate in the destruction she wrought. Human and vampire alike fell around her.

Screams filled the air as fire from the candles scorched and spread. The world around was full of movement: the flames reaching out for more to consume in its heat; the victims fleeing in haste from the blaze and from the figure at the centre that watched them with vacant, impassive eyes, eyes that belied the deadly, raging hunger that came to feast upon them.

The blood that spilled from fallen Methuselah traveled as though magnetized to the still figure, converging at her feet as though in supplication, in worship, ready to be consumed by her encompassing hunger; the Bacillus cells that resided within the blood of Methuselah a willing sacrificial lamb to feed the greater being, the Crusnik.

And she stood there, emotionless, taking it all, nothing but an instrument of an insatiable hunger and of an incessant, urgent need to destroy.

* * *

"_Are you hungry?" one of them asked. _

_It wasn't until that word was mentioned that you became aware of the void inside you. There was no answering stomach grumble, but you felt it, a kind of hollowness, and you were instinctively aware of what kind of food was the only nourishment for you. _

_Your eyes rose, stared at the enquirer, and gave a brief nod in affirmation. _

_They led you out into an unfamiliar world, but it was somehow a place you had walked before, from a memory that you felt didn't belong to you. Outside was crepuscular and crisp, the moon gibbous in the sky. You greeted the night with arms spread wide, feeling the chill air against your skin, and you closed your eyes at the welcome. _

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Thanks for reading :) More soon…  
May/2008


	8. But I'm so far

Disclaimer: Trinity Blood belongs to its respective owners, not me.

Cain's scene was inspired by a Thores artwork, the one where he's leaning against a white leafless tree that's garlanded by red roses .

Edited Feb/2009: Thanks to DarkScrivener for beta reading.

Happy new year!!!

* * *

Interlude: _Keep on running  
Farther, faster  
And keep on searching  
For this haunting has an answer  
And I know you will find me in orbit  
For I am breathing only for this  
For you only  
For you only_  
— Trading Yesterday, "For You Only"

Abel staggered, heavily breathing in the arid, dry desert air. He was surrounded by red sand, hot enough to be intolerable but he didn't care, he was better off out here despite the harshness and emptiness of Mars than in the ship surrounded by people he could care less about. He swiped his hand against the side of his lips, taking note of the strip of blood on his knuckles, the yellowing bruise that had started to mar his skin. Despite the hate boiling in him, he cajoled himself that he would not be the cause of the population's decline. He could resort to fisticuffs, but not to death.

He sat down heavily, scowling at the golden sky and the red horizon, hating where he was and how he had come to be there, how choiceless he and his small brethren really were—superhumans created to usher humanity to the red planet. Out here he truly felt alone, the enemy of the world.

A shadow descended on him, the shape all too familiar, and all of a sudden he felt calm. Abel sensed Lilith kneeling behind him. The weight of her arms was slight on his shoulders, her head leaning against his. From the corner of his eye, he saw her breath fan across the minuscule hairs on her arm. He felt her pulse beating against his shoulder blade as her chest pressed on his back. He reached up and squeezed her hand, pulled it towards his lips for a kiss. He was not lonely anymore. He could brave the world because she was here, with him.

It was with a sigh that she crumbled like a broken statue, her skin dissolving into dust indistinguishable from the red planet sand. It was with a heart already mired with self-denial that he turned to find her loped head staring unseeing at the sky above, the rest of her already breaking down into smaller fragments and blown away. The tears, though weightless, blurred his vision as they pooled in his eyes, refusing to fall. He tapped around until his hand encountered the cold, curvy frame of his glasses, and he donned them, seeing the world anew, a world that continued to exist without her, a world he couldn't escape. In the dark he stayed, behind the spectacles of a priest.

And out unto the world the priest gazed dispassionately. The mask descended.

* * *

Chapter 8: _Blinding darkness surrounds me  
And I am reaching for you only  
This hopelessness that drowns  
All that I believe  
Will be the one thing that I need  
For you only_  
— Trading Yesterday, "For You Only"

It seemed it was easier to lose what he had become since he resurfaced into the world. Little by little, Abel Nightroad could feel that foolish priest slipping from himself until he truly did not know who he was anymore. Once upon a time, when life seemed so much simpler on a different planet, he had a purpose. It was one he hadn't been all too happy about, but it defined him, made him feel that going through each day was bearable because there had been that to keep him going, however distasteful he found it. He was not unlike a machine programmed to perform a certain function.

And then the deaths: his human self in order to be inflicted with the Crusnik nanomachines; and then his heart, to be buried in a nine-hundred-year lamentation. When he rejoined the world, he became what she had always wanted him to be. It was all he could do in her memory.

And now, here he stood, in an empty place putrid with the stench of death, decay, burnt flesh, blood, all highlighted by dying flames. And beneath it all, a scent, slightly sweet and recognizable. He still did not know what had become of her body , lost from her tomb, but here he could feel her. She had been here, he was _almost_ certain.

What hindered his full conviction upon the matter was the fact that she had been, for all intents and purposes, deceased. In all that nine-hundred years, she was unquestionably dead. And now all his memories of her were becoming tainted by the sight surrounding him. He could feel himself wanting to give in to anger, to release all the hatred for the world he believed he had relinquished when she died, to unleash all of his dark self and once again become an enemy of the world, all to find her so he could find his own peace once again.

He bowed his head, ashamed of his selfishness. But what exactly did he have left to live for now? He could not return to the Vatican; he wasn't that person any longer. The persona of the priest had made living again bearable—it gave him a purpose. But now, things had changed. He _had_ changed. He was now consumed by a quest, the implication and conclusion of which he couldn't be bothered to comprehend, no matter what kind of trap lay in store for him. All he could think of was her; he had wholly surrendered himself to the longing. He was damning himself, and Abel didn't care that the rest of the world could descend with him.

* * *

Cain Knightlord blended against the whiteness of the garden, leaning against a roses-wrapped tree, his cheek against the softness of the red petals. He hummed, a smile on his lips, thinking to himself that he was at that moment the paragon of contentment.

Silence descended so suddenly, cutting off the tune, his lips curving down as he felt his peace disturbed. A figure walked, bare feet noiseless and lithe, the only indicator of her presence was the swish of her bloodied and torn robe against the dead grass.

He sighed, lips curling in contempt at the figure that interrupted his serenity. He stared at her empty expression, and as though pulled by his eyes she stopped and gazed back at him unwaveringly.

A feeling of regret rose in him that he instantaneously stifled. She was not as he remembered her. Though the face and body were familiar, the expression, the way the light fell in her eyes…they were a stranger's. Someone he did not know and couldn't care to know. He loved hating her back then, the passion that arose at the thought of her and his brother together enflamed him, made him feel alive. But now, he reflected indifference back to her, knowing that doing so would make no difference to her whatsoever. Despite the success of her first test as his subordinate, the massacre she had rendered, pride did not fill him. There was still that lingering impression of her former life in his mind that he hadn't been able to quell. But there were moments, moments when he'd catch a sight of her eyes at half-mast, and he would almost think, that there at that moment, the shadow of her former self was ready to surface.

He stood and went to her, in front of her so close he could smell the dried blood and the ashes from the flames she had wrought. He pressed his cheek against hers, eyes downcast and doleful, inhaling deeply to try to find the scent of their past. He brought his lips against her ear, and whispered, "My dear, you and I have only ever really had few things in common: one is how we were created, and the other is the one person whose soul each of us wanted to possess." As he spoke, he started swaying against the unresponsive figure in a parody of a dance. He wrapped her against him with his wings, clutching tightly in a vain attempt to make her cry out, to acquire some kind of indication that she was affected, for her to acknowledge him. He let go, pushing her away from him suddenly, and she rocked back, her face as impassive as his was impassioned. "I destroyed you once before, and I will not hesitate to do so again. You'd do well to remember that."

He turned away, smirking. "If ever anything happens inside that empty head of yours, that is."

Cain left, leaving the figure alone in the garden, accompanied only by the white, dead tree that bloomed roses.

She walked on, as though uninterrupted. A fallen thorn from a rose scraped against her foot, but she ignored the sting of it. Right foot and left paced on, directionless, leaving blood along the path she took. After a fashion, a crystal clear lake barred her path, the blue of the water stirring something in her mind: a pair of ice blue eyes on a face, gaunt, with high cheekbones. The anger in those eyes softening at the sight of… Of what? The image was gone, blown away by a breeze that lifted her heavy hair. She blinked, almost saddened by an unexplainable loss. Something that bordered on frustration almost filled her when she found she couldn't conjure up the image of that unknown yet familiar figure in her mind anymore. She brushed the feeling away, closed her eyes and took a deep breath, and willed herself to be empty. There was no need for her to chase a ghost that lived only in the memory of the dead whose body she inhabited and whose mind she shared.

She felt a tug at her nerve endings from the Young One holding her leash, calling her to him. For now she relinquished her hold on herself, and answered, allowing her body to be moved where it was beckoned to. At the moment, she had no need for freedom. But when the desire finally grabbed hold of her, whenever that event might be, she would sever this tie binding her. For the moment, she complied; seeing that maleficent smile materialize in front of her, telling her of things to conquer.

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Thanks for reading :)  
Dec/2008


	9. As the world falls down

Disclaimer: Trinity Blood belongs to its respective owners.

Lilith's ID number taken from "Trinity Blood Canon" (I didn't come up with it myself, and it's one of the very few things I can understand from the book as it's written in Romanji *lol*).

Thanks to DarkScrivener for beta reading.

* * *

Chapter 9: _As the pain sweeps through  
Makes no sense for you_  
— David Bowie, "As The World Falls Down"

* * *

She was bathed in lotus water, the robotic maids washing her ceremoniously, while through the white gauzy curtains, the young one watched, fascinated. Somehow the henna that should've faded was made more pronounced upon her skin, as though newly tattooed. She was led out of the bath to the other side of the curtain, straight before him so he could watch her unabashed as the androids dried her off. The smell of another age wafted through as they brought in the white burial shroud she had worn, which had been in another time a uniform of office. The cuffs were heavy on her wrists with their metallic bands branding her as "Lilith Sahl".

A small applause came from the other figure. "It is time," he said, and led her once more out into the world.

* * *

The scent of impending rain was heavy in the air. She stood among the ruins, perched precariously atop a fallen wall, watching the waves down below. She could feel the wind blowing her hair back. High in the sky, among the clouds, along the southwestern horizon the misshapen Vampire's Moon was visible even during the day. It looked like a fearsome eye of day, peering down into the world, waiting for what was about to unfold.

She felt a tug at her nerve endings, and she turned, and there was the young one, standing by the heavy steel doors set in the smooth stone of the only wall that still retained its foundation despite everything else in its vicinity. She walked toward him, her now shod feet treading softly over the stone scrollwork of the ground. She reached him, and unbidden she raised her right palm and placed it over the reader by the door. With a mechanical confirmation of a name and a rank unrecognizable to her, the doors opened.

* * *

It was a city deep underground.

It was still amidst the restoration from the ravages of war that had befallen Albion not too long ago. She walked along the sterile passages that still held traces of what had occurred before. There were mostly the cloaked figures of corpses decaying where they had fallen, their putrid stench polluting the very air. Almost inconceivable even to herself, she felt her power overcome her, feeling a charge release to liquefy and dissolve the remains until it looked as though nothing had ever come to pass in that place.

Ahead of her, the young one paused and looked back at her curiously, while she treaded on, indifferent to what had just transpired.

She could hear his gait lighten behind her, pacing quickly until he overtook her, still with that same glint in his gaze.

"Hmm," was all he muttered, a half-smile forming on his lips, before breaking the silence again. "This way," he said softly, indicating a doorway that led to some sort of control room.

It was round, cavernous, and empty. Its silence echoed all around. At their entrance, light flickered on, bathing the room with a dense white glow.

Dietrich eyed her like a hawk, waiting for some hint of recognition. The room ought to look familiar to her: it was among the last vestiges of Lost Technology, an environment she had been surrounded with when she still lived. He waved a hand over a monitor and all the computers turned on. He indicated a screen beside a control panel. "If you will oblige me."

She placed a palm over the console, its sudden warmth almost startling. A robotic voice announced, "ID number UNASF94-8-RMOC-666-00-LS, Commander Lilith Sahl, confirmed. System awaiting vocal command."

She stared straight ahead, willing her mind to remain empty. She could see the young man in her periphery, sighing as though dejected.

"Well, we've hit quite a snag, haven't we? I wonder if you'll ever regain your voice, and what it would take to return it, or even your memory, back to you." He thought for a moment, idly tapping his finger against his cheek, then a smile formed on his lips, the glow from the monitors bathing his face in a malevolent light. He turned to the screen, fingers flying over the keyboard. _Search Database Keywords: Commander Abel Knightlord._

There was a beep and then the screen blinked, and an image came of a young man with short, silver hair and unsmiling blue eyes, a sneer barely manifesting in his countenance.

She eyed this vision, somewhere deep down in the self she dared not acknowledge recognizing the figure. She blinked, finally looking to the side at her companion, expressionless, and turned away to walk out of that room.

Dietrich sat down with a sigh, still with that smile. Even no reaction was reaction enough.

* * *

The world seemed like one big optical illusion to her: a still picture, with movement at the edge of its periphery.

Through an open doorway sprang the stench of death. Down into the darkness lay hacked limbs, the faces of dead children with their blind eyes begging an unseen force.

The heat was scorching, electrifying, so blazing it made her heavy hair stand on end. Her wings spread, stretching far to catch the flood of blood flowing towards her.

Beyond the smoke there was a high shriek, a battle cry full of pain as a female vampire flew towards her, bloodlust in her eyes, her dark hair lengthening to sharp points. Her own claws elongated in response, nanomachines forming harder than steel. She stood her ground and waited for her attacker to come to her, and felt the hair fall on her like a rain of blades, piercing her, blood that had flowed in gushing out once more. More of the hair came, puncturing her. It was a gory cycle as her own blood was absorbed once again by nanomachines.

She raised a clawed hand and entangled it through a length of hair, and with only an ounce of strength tugged at the assailant. There was a scream that was suddenly silenced, and the strength from the hair-blades dissolved. She disentangled her hand and flung the severed head towards the flames, all the while feeling her skin heal and smoothen.

She moved on, watching children flee from her in futility with their cries akin to a newborn's birth, high and shrill, as a wave of her power overcame them. She felt their blood streaming into her, and with it their agonies, their despair, their fear. She felt the symbionts in her feeding off of these, the incarnation of hunger, and a pulse awakened in her belly, jolting her. She felt a heart inside her, separate from the one that beat within her breast, and memory stirred in her mind of pale hands tracing the contours of her flesh, rough and battered, soft against her skin. It belonged to the face she was shown earlier. She remembered the feel of him—strong, young, earnest—his passion so fiery it consumed her. And his smile, warm despite the winter of his eyes, and memory stirred in her mind, of her admonishment to herself to never see that smile turn to disappointment.

She was brought back to herself, faltering, startled at her surroundings, the faces of the dead, predominantly children, pleading for her mercy as they burned. The sight of them blurred, but the heat of the flames evaporated her tears.

She sank to her knees, and for the first time felt her heart weighing heavily inside her, its every beat willing a soul to resurface. She hated the sense of awareness that suddenly engulfed her mind, unable to close herself as the memories of the last few days settled over her. This could not be how the dead dreamed. The blood-splattered past mirrored the present.

She felt a cry longing to be free from her integument of silence, but she pressed it down, buried it deep with a struggle. She was merely a shell, and must remain one, for what good would it bring if the other her were brought back? Better if she stayed hollow inside and protected the other in a cocoon. To wrest that soul from its rest would be unimaginable, unforgivable. She was nothing more than a vessel for that sleeping soul.

But then a sob, a shriek. It erupted out of her against her will. The sound shook the walls; the floors reverberated with its force. She could feel the world falling down around her. Lilith raised a tear-stained face, bloodred eyes fading to a golden hue, and met the descending debris, aching to be buried with those fallen to her.

* * *

Abel felt he was always two steps behind.

In a claustrophobic room in a town outside Londinium, he paced the floor, agitation and frustration running through his veins. It was a time of crisis in Albion. Martial law had been declared. The city had only just begun to slowly restore itself from the war that plagued it recently, and now it was dealt another blow. Entrance back into Londinium had been prohibited as numerous buildings had collapsed to fall into the underground Methuselah city.

His mind churned, thoughts flying, trying but failing to imagine what could be happening with the body he had been searching for, but knowing at the back of his mind that somehow, for some reason, it was the cause of the current calamity. _I will not forgive them for what they are doing to her. Cain… How dare you._

He squeezed his eyes shut, feeling himself being brought out of his stupor by the sound of the news monitor Ion was flipping through. He tried to drown out the sound.

"—Albion is shaken once again—"

"—everyone in the Ghetto massacred—"

"—massive underground city caved in—"

"—remembering the attack on Londinium just a few months ago—"

"—monsters even more powerful than Methuselah—"

"—New Human Empire preparing for war—"

"—anti-terrorism proclamation by Queen Esther of Albion—"

"—authorities claim to be the work of a terrorist group called the Rosen Creutz Orden—"

"—allegedly the same monster that attacked a vampire club, the Covenant, in Europa—"

There was a click as Ion turned off the screen. He sighed, waving a newspaper in one hand. "It's hard to believe all this is the work of one creature. What could be powerful enough to do this? I have never heard of such a thing about the Methuselah. If this keeps on, another Armageddon will be unleashed, and with the world as it is, I don't think it could survive another such war."

He looked at the newspaper in his hand, perusing the article that was attached to a picture of an affronted Esther beside an image of the destroyed Ghetto and royal palace.

"_**The Albion Times**_

"_Underground Methuselah City Eradicated_

"_Albion is in an uproar over the attack in the Ghetto, an underground Methuselah city centred beneath Londinium. It had been the site for the building of technology that had been powering Albion's economy and trade for centuries._

"_More than ninety percent of the Methuselah population have been killed. A few of the surviving witnesses claimed to have seen only a lone attacker, appearing to be female, with powers that no Methuselah has ever seen. It has been claimed that the attacker fed on the blood of the Methuselah themselves. Security cameras at the site that have not been destroyed were able to record the horrible occurrence._

"_It is not just Albion's Methuselah population that have suffered from such a calamity; mainland Europa has been a victim as well. The New Human Empire is in despair over the plight._

"_In a public announcement, Queen Esther proclaimed, 'Albion will not stand for such atrocity, especially to the Methuselah community. I offer my deepest prayers for the souls of those who have fallen to this creature or creatures. I will use everything in our resources to put a stop to this catastrophe and prevent it from ever happening again. The Rosen Creutz Orden is our primary suspect in this unforgivable act of terrorism.'_

"_For security purposes, Queen Esther of Albion has been moved to an unspecified location."_

"I really do worry about Esther," Ion muttered. "I hope she's safe wherever they brought her. I want to see her. Maybe we should go to her? Shouldn't we, Abel…?" His voice faded, suddenly aware that he was alone. He saw the door standing ajar. He hadn't heard the other man leave.

He traced the image of Esther with a finger before looking back at the door. "I do not know what's on your mind," he said to the empty room. "It's unbecoming of me to say how much that scares me."

* * *

It was a walk Abel did not remember. The sound of the sea brought him back to himself, realizing his feet had taken him to the place where Cain had destroyed him mere months before. It did not seem like a short period of time had passed from that time he awakened once more as a Crusnik, somehow filled with a clarity he hadn't felt before when he was whiling away his days as a Vatican priest. And now that clarity had been replaced by the turmoil in his mind and heart, feeling himself adrift, anchorless in the world. It was only now that the weight of the years he had lived felt so heavy. Empty.

He had never been one for dreams of the future. It seemed futile when it had been deemed what he was to become since he was born. All his life, he had been filled with the certainty of the Purpose of his creation. But that Purpose had been fulfilled; gone to Mars and back again. That person had been someone from a different era. His age belied his physical appearance.

Here he was, back in the place where he had been created, destroyed by the ghost of his past. His heart felt heavy at the thought that she could be alive, awakened from a long sleep of death, only to be manipulated to become an instrument of the enemy.

It was no use conjuring conjectures.

His brow wrinkled as he detected that he was not alone. "What do you want?" he said softly to the darkness.

There was a light chuckle. "Ah, forgive my impudence," came a voice that didn't sound at all contrite. A figure melted from the shadows, his young face smiling. "I'm impressed you've sensed my presence in so short a time."

"So you didn't die after all," Abel replied.

"I almost did, thanks to your brother. You didn't die either. But that's what one can expect from a Crusnik, yes?"

Abel answered with silence. He did not know why he didn't feel the need to apprehend the other man after countless encounters filled with enmity.

"I came out of courtesy," Dietrich continued, "to give you pertinent information."

Abel raised his head but didn't bother looking at the young man behind him.

"We will be visiting the queen. Her current abode is just north of here, in a castle by the sea. I'm sure she will welcome a visit from you and the Earl of Memphis, however futile your protection might prove to be."

At this, Abel turned to finally gaze at his visitor. Dietrich stood close to the cliff's edge, a slight wind blowing his hair.

"You were the Contra Mundi once, and now you're on the other side, fighting against us in vain. Your promise not to destroy…do you think it matters now to the one you made the promise to? Do you think it ever did when she was sepulchred deep underground?" He raised his hand to tousle his hair.

"She was beautiful, and I never realized she was yours until I stole her away."

Abel's eyes widened, and with a guttural yell he bounded for Dietrich. The man standing at the cliff's edge snapped his fingers, and behind Abel came a loud crash as something sprang out of the rubble. He felt a gust of sudden wind, and darkness overtook him as it flew towards Dietrich. He stumbled, staring in disbelief as the figure grabbed hold of Dietrich's raised arm and bore him away, hearing him bellow, "We await your arrival at Esther's palace!"

Something flew at Abel from the fleeing figures, a glint of metal in the night. Panting, he caught it. It felt like a band, torn from the cuff of a garment's sleeve. His thumb traced the surface. L-I-L-I-T—

He gasped at the realization. A scream ripped from Abel's throat, hoarse and anguished, drowned out by the waves below and the crowing of the figure being carried away by a seraph with blue angel wings.

* * *

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Thanks for reading :)  
Jan/2009


	10. Take my life forever

Disclaimer: Trinity Blood is not mine.

Note: Description of the Crusnik nanomachines is from _Reborn on the Mars Volume 2: The Iblis._

To those who are hoping for a long chapter, you'll have to wait for Chapter 11 (it may end up being longer than chapter 3).

Thanks to DarkScrivener for beta reading.

* * *

Chapter 10: _Tomaranai toki ni hisomu  
(Koboreochita namida no ato kogoesou na namida no iro)  
Ai wa kitto furisosogu ame no you ni  
Modorenai kioku meguru  
(Koboreochita namida no ato kogoesou na namida no iro)  
Subete ubawareta kono yo ni hate ni _

_Kanashimi…  
Tatoe wazuka na hikari umarete mo nageki wa kurikaesu  
Sore wa maru de uso no you ni kieru shinjitsu  
Tatoe saigo no hane o hiraite mo sadame wa kaerarezu  
Yuri no hana wa hakanage ni itami wa kienai  
Yume nara aishita mama de _  
— Arashi, "Truth" (lyrics by HYDRANT)

* * *

After she had left him in the control room, Dietrich was left to contemplate the result of his experiment. He had always loved seeing the expression of his victims' faces: their pain etched very clearly in the line of their brow, in the tears pooling in their eyes, in the droop of their skin—there was something quite ecstatic about their despair.

And here he was faced with the utmost challenge: to find an expression on that blank face. But it seemed any provocation he'd attempted so far had been fruitless. He had been watching her closely, but not even a small tick on her cheek manifested when the image of someone who had been important to her appeared.

Crestfallen despite himself, he soon left that place, walking the path back to the surface to wait for her. It had been a surprise later that day to feel tumultuous tremours beneath his feet, the ground quaking while the rest of the foundation finally gave, dust spreading to the corners of the evening. He had felt his heart beat strongly in his chest, disbelieving at the sight, logic warring with denial: _She could survive this, couldn't she? She's not…_

Dietrich couldn't finish the thought. He squeezed his fingers at the biotechnological thread that tied her to him, feeling it stretch taut, trying to draw her back to him. He felt a minuscule tug in answer, and he finally let loose the breath he held, allowing tense muscles to relax. He just needed to wait; she would make her way back to the surface in time.

Hours crawled, but he dared not move from his perch. He had to see for himself just how much damage had been rendered to her from having a city fall on her.

He did not know how long he had stayed there, waiting, but he could feel her coming near. And it was then that his master's brother appeared like a lost wraith among the ruins, his long silver hair flapping in the wind. He wondered what kind of expression would be on the priest's face when he found himself suddenly confronted with his past. Dietrich couldn't help but to engage this visitor with his own brand of conversation.

The timing had been perfect: his words, the reply of his victim through anger and sorrow, and her, rising out of the ruins like the wrath of a vengeful god. He congratulated himself at the torment he'd caused, almost doubling up in hysterics at the scene before him: that lonely figure at the cliff's edge growing smaller and smaller, looking even more lost than before.

They soared through the air, the wind palpable and not so gentle. They were headed to a church on top of a hill, barely standing in its own wreckage.

Dietrich felt the turbulence amid the flap of the wings, their movements faltering. It wasn't long before he felt the hands holding him lose their strength, releasing him at the broken doorway of the church. He stumbled down with a grunt, dropping to his hands and knees. He looked up and saw her wings disintegrate as she dropped, skidding down the aisle like a rag doll, stopping at the base of the altar with an impact.

He swallowed, a degree of fear gripping his heart before he banished it. He rose unsteadily, willing his trembling limbs to still, and staggered towards the unmoving figure, dried rose petals crunching beneath his feet. When he reached her, he rolled her onto her back with a gentleness unusual for him. He barely stifled a gasp as he ran his eyes over the prone figure. Her clothing was torn; part of her head was smashed in. There were numerous puncture wounds on her with blood still seeping through. A lot of her bones seemed to have been crushed, and some broken, jagged ends peeked out of her skin. Innards spilled out of a huge gash at her side, and an eyeball dangled out its socket. The other bloodshot eye stared unseeing up at the broken stained glass window high above altar. She was the worse for wear for having a whole city fall on her. He marveled at the remainder of her strength that allowed her to burst free from that makeshift tomb and carry him away.

Falling to his knees, he ran his fingers down her face, cupping her cheek. Below his fingers at her neck he felt a faint throb of a pulse, and he allowed himself to sigh in relief.

He raised his head, examining his surroundings to see what he would need for her. On the altar stood a black casket, resting askew among the rotten roses, its lid thrown to the side. Dietrich hoped it was empty, and if it wasn't, it soon would be for he had need of it. With an uncustomary tenderness, he lifted her in his arms, carefully ascending the steps to the dais, looking over to make sure the coffin was vacant before gently laying her down into it. She would need a period to recuperate, for even the Crusnik, powerful and indestructible as they were, were themselves not invulnerable. His master had had nine-hundred years to regenerate himself, but Dietrich hoped it wouldn't take that long for his ward.

He eyed her critically. She would need new clothes, thinking to himself how hazardous to one's apparel destroying the world could be. He would also need to snare a stray vampire or two to feed her to help quicken the recovery before they could head out on to their next mission.

The queen would have to wait.

* * *

A dejected and helpless sigh escaped from Abel's chest, his mind torn between relief and disbelief. Here was the proof of her existence within his tightly clenched fist, and a part of him was afraid it would disappear if he were to loosen his hand.

He staggered, suddenly light-headed, the other hand a wobbly support against the precarious wall on the cliff's edge. He teetered on the brink, eyes unexpectedly blurry, until with another exhale he finally let loose the frustration, the despair, all that he had bottled up over the last weeks since he was greeted with the emptiness of her grave. Down to his knees he fell, and clutched her name to his chest, drawing her rosary to the same place with his other hand.

He closed his eyes with an exhausted sigh. He felt fatigue settling on him, but with the knowledge of her presence, that she had been close enough to touch—he couldn't let himself go, not yet, not until…

He felt darkness descend; he could feel it engulfing him. It was as though he had never left the catacomb. He was breathing in its stale, dead air, and he was still crouched and crying over her tomb. His mourning would never end; breaking through to the surface of the world had only been a brief reprieve from it.

Hours elapsed and dawn broke over the horizon, waking him from his vigil. He greeted the hidden sun head on, feeling himself fill up with a modicum of strength to face the day. He could feel the dried tear-tracks on his cheeks, and something else that crusted over him during the course of the night. He peeled it from his skin. It was red: blood that splattered on him like rain as she flew from him.

Abel looked behind him and saw the hole in the ground, a few feet from where he had been standing. From there to the cliff's edge was a bloody trail. He went over to investigate. Down into the makeshift tunnel he could see still more blood and viscera. Thoughts ran amok in his mind, scattered and tumultuous. The foundations of this place led deep underground to the Ghetto. He raised his head to look far off in the direction of Londinium. No doubt that part of the cause of the city's collapse had something to do with the Orden's activities involving her. Since Dietrich was around, that meant that she was being controlled like a puppet. Abel's brow furrowed. Was she alive? Or was she still dead, mindless, with her body manipulated like a marionette? The thought of the latter made his blood boil, but it did not seem improbable. Abel was aware of Dietrich's own brand of killing dolls: using Methuselah and lobotomizing them, stealing their independence and will for easier domination. If the same treatment were given to Lilith…Abel found he could not finish the thought.

His eyes fell back to the cave mouth, gaping open like a gory womb. That she had been wounded the whole time was a thought that made his heart palpitate wildly. Who knew what else she was undergoing at the Orden's clutches?

Summoning the mark of his sins, his eyes became crimson and the nanomachines extended out of his body. They bubbled out, little maws gaping open, teeth gnashing in insatiable hunger to engulf the traces of her that she had left in her wake. The nanomachines from her in turn rose up, as though greeting their brethren, and they began to devour and absorb each other. Even though he found the sight almost repulsive, his eyes closed at the taste, and he brought the torn cuff up to his nose to inhale her scent to be all the more immersed with her, his mind overwhelmed by remembrances. He had never been one to pay attention to the mnemonic imprint within the blood that the nanomachines consumed, but for this he allowed himself to soak up the images.

_He drank it in, lost in their cries. He felt outside of himself, as though between him and the world there stood a luminous misty shroud, muting all sounds and senses. Thoughts fleeted through his mind, memories of another life that fluttered incessantly in his head, the images superimposed over each other so that he couldn't distinguish them. _

—_a frowning pale face topped with silver hair, the marble countenance veined by bruises—a feeling of uneasiness that made him clutch at his belly, his heart beating too fast at the unknown that came upon him, the thought of it weighed heavily on his mind, a factor he had never dared to dream of—the appearance of a shadowed figure with dark wings that lifted his heart, but he had to stifle it down; war was not the time to succumb to his own longing—that spear of death descending, deliberate and true, and he welcomed it: the lesser of two evils—voices that spoke through the murky darkness, imploring his return, and then commanding, a demand that he felt powerless to refuse though he fought it—silence and numbness descended on him like a cocoon, feeling his body move but knowing that the act was not his—hunger, he was a gaping void of hunger, and he answered that unswerving call and devoured everything in his path indiscriminately, even the silver-haired one that briefly sent a flare of recognition through his mind, that one was the one he had to destroy most of all—bangs and whimpers that could not reach his ears, and had he the capacity for longing, for desire, he would avert his eyes from this dream. But for their blood, he was drained of everything—a tinge of awareness that sprung a fire in his mind: recognition at what he had done and what he had been made to do, and sorrow at what he must do to stop himself, when suddenly numbness descended on him again, insulating that sudden flare of consciousness deep down, transforming him back to something powerful as the world came tumbling down—a call, a summon, a tug in his lifeline that had a compulsion overtaking his body, an order he couldn't ignore that had him breaking through the buried city with everything that was left in him—_

He gasped, brought back to himself, staring unseeing at the cave mouth. He could not tell if this was what it felt to be fully merged with the Crusnik nanomachines. Or was this something else? Another mystery? He felt the lack of self-awareness, the empty thoughts that breezed through her head without her ever acknowledging them, flashing by through a segregated mind. Was that what it was like to be dead? To have become so disconnected? His own demise had not been the same, he knew. She had had nine-hundred years, would the length of time have made any difference?

And would this be the only union he would have with her, through the present merging of their nanomachines? She seemed all the more beyond his reach, and he was again left grasping; he was once more faced with the constant pain that would never fade. The only thing permitted to him was a dream of love, a never-to-be-fulfilled promise of a possibility.

The sun emitted a gloomy light, impeded by heavy grey clouds that finally gave way to the impending rain that hovered over the past few days. Drenching him, it washed her away as though she had never been there, a denial of her existence.

* * *

Her footsteps echoed through the vaulted high ceiling of the grand corridor. Astharoshe Asran's gait was purposeful through the empty, barely-used hall. A frown marred her brow as her gaze ran over her surroundings. This was a place that was seldom, if ever, used despite its sterile cleanliness, notwithstanding being breached by a member of the Rosen Creutz Orden. Her eyes focused once more ahead of her, her mask of curiosity easily falling away to the face she usually presented to the world: the aloof, noble Duchess of Kiev.

She turned to the open doorway of a control room, grey and pristine, and at the centre at the end sat the Mother of all Methuselah, who promptly turned in her seat to greet her guest. It shouldn't be surprising to Astharoshe but she was nonetheless taken aback to see the Empress in her true form, beyond the curtain she usually kept between herself and her subjects. To look young was a normal trait for all Methuselah, but to face this and know the actual age gap between them…it baffled even Astharoshe.

She walked through the doors and down the steps, falling down on one knee and bowing her head when she was a few metres from the Empress. "You summoned me, Your Majesty."

"Duchess Kiev," Augusta Vradica nodded in acknowledgment before turning back to the screen. "Arise, and come. I have something to show you." She pointed to the monitor. "I require this artifact, and I am placing all my faith and hope in you to acquire it for me."

Astharoshe stared at the object in question, brows furrowing into a frown, and then anger when she realized what it was. _Unforgivable_, she thought, her eyes hardening as she continued to gaze. _That slight against all Methuselah, that calamity…and Her Majesty wants this?_ Her eyes widened as she realized where her thoughts were leading her, and she schooled her features out of all expression. As a faithful subject to the Empress, disobedience in thought or action meant betrayal and treason, for Augusta Vradica's words were the law, and they were absolute. The green eyes on her were steady and shrewd, but distant, with a calculating watchfulness that made Astharoshe shift almost imperceptibly.

"You are not permitted to disclose the details of this mission to anyone. I trust you will keep my confidence?" It wasn't a question. She knew full well the outcome: to go against the will of the Empress was unthinkable.

She lowered her head and placed her right hand over her heart. "Yes, Your Majesty," she replied, placing all of her reverence and all of her conviction for the Methuselah's one and true ruler into that response. "Thy will be done."

* * *

End note(s): "Truth" translation by Taiji.

_Lurking within time that never stops  
(Traces of tears that spilled over, the color of tears as they freeze)  
Love will surely pour down like the rain  
Memories I can't return to drift around me  
(Traces of tears that spilled over, the color of tears as they freeze)  
At the end of this world when everything has been taken away..._

_Only sadness...  
Even if a faint light is born, the grief returns over and over  
This is the truth that disappears like a lie  
Even if I spread my last wings, I can't change my fate  
As the lily blossom is short-lived, the pain never fades  
I could only love in my dreams_

Thanks for reading :)  
Feb/2009


	11. He tasted love with half his mind

Disclaimer: Trinity Blood belongs to its respective owners, not me.

Thanks to those who've read/reviewed/put this fic on story alert; I really appreciate it.

Many thanks to DarkScrivener for beta reading.

* * *

Chapter 11: _If Sleep and Death be truly one,  
And every spirit's folded bloom  
Thro' all its intervital gloom  
In some long trance should slumber on; _

_Unconscious of the sliding hour  
Bare of the body, might it last,  
And silent traces of the past  
Be all the colour of the flower:_

_So then were nothing lost to man;  
So that still garden of the souls  
In many a figured leaf enrolls  
The total world since life began;_

_And love will last as pure and whole  
As when he loved me here in Time,  
And at the spiritual prime  
Rewaken with the dawning soul._  
— Lord Alfred Tennyson, "In Memoriam XLIII"

* * *

In the darkness and wreckage where even mice dared not scuttle, several figures materialized, dragging something unresisting in their wake. They scuffled towards Dietrich, who waited for them at the bottom of the altar steps, and upon reaching him, unceremoniously laid their offering at his feet.

Dietrich beheld his creations with a rueful and disapproving eye. He didn't have to look at the bodies on the floor to know those had already been drained of blood. However mindlessly obedient these creatures were, in the end they answered the call of their instinct rather than their master's orders.

He clucked his tongue, an eyebrow rising in mild disbelief, turning to look at the closed casket behind him. He gazed once more back at his creations, the idea already formed in his mind. _Time is of the essence, after all_, he thought, and he couldn't bear to wait any longer.

There was no longer any need to send out for fresh Methuselah.

* * *

"_But who hath seen her wave her hand? Or at the casement seen her stand_—"

Esther looked up and sighed. In her nightclothes in the big royal bed she sat, the book of poetry she held sandwiching her index finger to hold her place. She felt at a loss, plunged into royalty so suddenly she felt she barely had time to breathe. She excelled in keeping a clear head during crises, in never giving up hope just when it all seemed lost, but here, but now… As a child growing up in the church in Istvan, she had been taught to have faith in God and also to trust in herself, to be resourceful when need be. As a new queen she was torn between her duty to the people who now looked up to her for salvation and also to the etiquettes and restrictions of being a queen.

Her eyes roamed around the royal chamber, at the opulence and richness surrounding her, at the luxury that belied her once humble station. It was something out of a fairy tale, and she had never been one to believe in those types of stories.

She could handle the work; she was a take-charge person. It was just the formalities and politics she could have done without—they could have accomplished a lot without those.

She ran a hand through her hair, frustrated, knowing what the day held for her: lessons in etiquette and dance and diplomacy and everything else that a royal ought to excel at, followed by meetings with advisors regarding the current predicament about Albion and the world, followed by more lessons, and then more meetings.

She turned the book in her hand to stare at the gold-embossed blue velvet cover. _Poems by Alfred, Lord Tennyson_. In the royal library, she walked across the aisles of bookcases surrounded by the history and literature of Albion, trying between lessons to immerse herself in the country she had been born in. She had chanced upon the book without any real interest other than something to occupy her from the day to day activities. She was surprised to find that she felt very much like the lady in the poem she was currently reading, "The Lady of Shalott," trapped within the grey walls of her castle, not permitted to greet the outside world, only with Esther it was for fear of assassination attempts and who knew what else now that she was in a position of power.

She opened the book again, her eyes randomly falling on a line on the page, and began to read, "_And moving thro' a mirror clear that hangs before her all the year, shadows of the world appear_—"

* * *

_And then she woke up._

_She stretched and took a deep breath. The scent that permeated her nose was sweet in its own way, and masculine, strong, all too familiar. She became aware of her own nudity between the sheets, and she curled suddenly, limbs retracting, unaccustomed to the feel of it, and even more so at the knowledge of the other unclothed body next to her._

_This was not her room, but similar to it in design. Despite the cold, the body next to her provided soothing warmth, and she snuggled further beneath the covers. The scent of him fluttered up her nose as she inhaled, making her smile. Shyly raising her eyes to finally look at her companion, she stared at him. She grinned at the frown that still marred his brows even in sleep, reaching over to smoothen it with a thumb. It only made his brows furrow even more, and she giggled despite herself._

_Her body felt sore, still pained between her thighs. Her back arched in a stretch, careful not to disturb the tenderness she still felt and Abel's sleep. How had that one kiss turned to something more, she had no idea, nor did she berate herself for what happened. There was a limit to what she could withstand in denying his feelings for her, and she herself was not heartless. Even their duty could not stand between them. _

_"Lilith," he whispered as a greeting to the morning, trying to blink sleep away. When he finally fully opened his eyes, they were clear: a becalmed lake in winter. He brought up a hand to cup her cheek, while her fingers traced over his knuckles._

_"I wish," he began, rather sleepily, "to freeze this moment and etch it in my mind forever. You and me. Just you and me. Just you and me…" He trailed off, lips stoppered by her finger, which she soon replaced with her own for a kiss._

_"…love you…" It was a sigh against his lips, and he swallowed it with another kiss, deepening it, encircling himself within her arms. The tips of his hair tickled her cheeks as she tasted him; his touch plunged her down the waves of desire, and she allowed herself to be pulled down by the undertow._

* * *

Footsteps echoed as glossy black boots trod down the aisle. Isaak toed off a drained cadaver barring his way while examining the ruined church with a disdainful eye. "Really, Puppet Master, tsk-tsk," he drawled as a greeting, shaking his head. "Quite tasteless of you."

Dietrich rose from the front pew he had been reclining on, not at all surprised by the visitor.

"It has its charms, doesn't it?" replied Dietrich with a sweep of his arm as he stood to meet Isaak. "I myself haven't done much with the décor; the desecration already occurred before we got here, we just thought to add a bit more to it, although I dare say that the Vatican and the Church of Albion already have their hands full to bother with this little one."

Isaak smirked, inhaling the last puff from his cigarette before flicking it away. He ascended the steps to where the coffin lay, looking behind him to the younger man and raising his eyebrow when he saw the closed casket.

"How curious," was all he mumbled before turning back to it and raising the lid. The one eyebrow still rose further at the sight. "Why, Dietrich," he began, "all I see is blood." He turned back to the Puppet Master. "Where, pray tell, is Eurydice?"

"Submerged in there," came the ready answer. "An experiment of a sort, if you will."

The older man just looked at him with an imperious expression, and Dietrich elaborated. "It is known that the use of blood to a wounded Methuselah enables them to heal faster, so I wondered whether the same is true for a Crusnik."

Isaak tilted his head to the side, eyes narrowing in contemplation. "Hmm, interesting…so then why is the project drowning in blood? Shouldn't the blood she'd already consumed during her missions be taken in as a factor in her healing capabilities?"

Dietrich paced back and forth in front of the altar, stepping on the rotting corpses of the Auto-Jaegers and dried petals as he explained, "Well, considering that Londinium did fall on her and it took a while for her to finally reach the surface, she had sustained quite some damage. And since it seemed she'd drained the Ghetto of all Methuselah, I've had a hard time finding…hmm, shall we say 'donors'…

"So I've sent out my Auto-Jaegers to fetch any vampires that managed to escape, but these mindless cretins ate them themselves. As punishment, since they themselves were at one time vampires, their bacillus should provide the necessary nourishment for the Crusnik."

He paused, walking up the steps to gaze down at the casket beside Isaak. "It's fascinating, actually, to watch those nanomachines work. It's like they have a life of their own with a hive mind, consuming all that blood while simultaneously repairing the body of their host. I imagine this was how her head came to be restored to her body after decapitation, although the lack of bacillus allowed for the healing to take place over a long period of time. She looked nearly complete the last time all the blood was drained from the casket. We just need to wait for all the blood to be depleted before we can resume the mission."

Isaak looked at the younger man, feeling his chest expand with pride. "It seems you have everything under control here, at least towards her physicality."

Dietrich stared back at him with a puzzled expression. "What ever do you mean, Panzermagier?"

Isaak lowered the lid, eyes roaming the broken vaulted ceiling of the church. "There's no guarantee, Puppet Master, that even if you've managed to repair her body, she would be obliging enough to awaken for us once more and continue on with the mission."

Dietrich turned from Isaak and followed his gaze upwards, though he did not know what it was he saw up there.

Isaak heaved a sigh as he lit up a cigarette. "My instincts were right in getting me to come here as I cannot sense her at all."

* * *

In the antechamber between her bedroom and her closet, the queen stood uncomfortably amidst maids who clad her in layer after layer of royal garb. Esther didn't feel much like herself when she was being treated like this. All her life, she had been independent, doing things for herself; she had never really been acquainted with richness, barring that time when she had been a guest at the Duchess of Kiev's house.

She sucked in a breath as the pair-of-bodies were tightened on her, flattening her torso. Next came the farthingale, followed by the underskirt, which unlike her other more heavily embellished skirts was pretty simple in design. The occasion called for something down-to-earth and mournful due to the crisis that had recently befallen her new kingdom. And yet she would have settled for something much simpler, eyeing the lines and lines of pearls beaded on the black velvet bodice.

The clothing was as restricted as she was feeling, and heavy. She missed the nun's habit she used to wear, allowing for a greater freedom of movement. Through the mirror she watched the ladies-in-waiting finish lacing the bodice behind her, and then leading her to the dresser to be painted. As she sat, she held her hand out, and one the ladies brought her book to her. She settled in her seat, keeping her head raised as the makeup was applied while lowering her eyes to the page.

"_And sometimes through the mirror blue the knights come riding two and two_—"

There was a discreet knock on the door. One of the ladies opened it and ushered the steward in, interrupting Esther from her reading. "I beg your pardon, Your Highness." He stared straight ahead, posture stiff and proper. "We have captured a Methuselah and his human companion. They were loitering at the gates. As this is a secret place, and they have refused to turn away, we have detained them in a holding cell. Insofar as we have interrogated them, they keep claiming they knew you from when you were still a novice at the Vatican. The Methuselah's companion is dressed in a priest's cassock."

Esther almost couldn't believe what she was hearing.

"What would you like us to do about them, Your Highness?"

* * *

It was a situation she had never imagined given their present circumstances: to be sitting down for tea with two men she never thought she'd see again.

A maid brought in a tray, and Esther motioned her away, thinking herself more than capable of pouring tea for all of them, regardless of her higher station. It would also afford them some measure of privacy, though the head steward and security weren't far, standing guard beyond the door.

She smiled at the both of them; one was blatantly restraining from expressing his joy while the other kept a cautious eye at the corners of the room as though expecting a spectre to suddenly manifest.

"How nice to see you looking well, Your Excellency," she greeted with a pleased smile. "And you too, Father Nightroad," she said, turning to the other figure a little warily for her mind was encumbered with the memory of the last time she saw him: darkness incarnate, given a form that was sporadically highlighted by lightning. He had truly become a stranger then, the unknown instilling the deepest fear that sent shivers down her spine as she beheld the sight before he fled to the sky.

"Yes, thank you, Esth—I mean Your Highness," replied Ion; the blush was a heat he felt, rather discomforting, and he could almost imagine the steam rising out of his head. His gaze, though, was tender and lingering. "I'm glad you're well as well, and that you seem to be adapting to your new station rather well."

Esther nodded, uneasy at the praise despite herself. Noticing the continuing silence of her other visitor, she inquired, "Father? Are you all right? Is the tea not to your liking? There are thirteen spoonfuls of sugar in it…"

With a start, Abel brought his gaze to Esther, mustering up a smile that trembled and only nodded his head in acknowledgment before taking a sip and not really registering the taste. A palpable tenseness hung suspended in the air, the discomfort of it making the younger two shift in their seats.

Abel cleared his throat, as though finally noticing the silence he had inadvertently caused. That he had something weighing on his mind was clear, and so he began, "By any chance, Esther," addressing her without a thought about formalities, "has your old friend Dietrich come to visit you?"

Esther was taken aback. She certainly had not been expecting that, and could feel her shoulders slumping despite herself. Of course, at a time like this, she shouldn't suddenly expect them to come see her for no reason. She hurried and stopped her thoughts from going somewhere she dare not even contemplate. And about Dietrich, of all people.

"Why no, not since Londinium first fell," she replied, trepidation filling her. Anything regarding Dietrich boded nothing remarkably pleasant.

"I see," said Abel, pushing his glasses up so that she could only see the reflection of the light, not his eyes. "He warned me that he will be coming for you. You have to take extra care, double your security—"

"My life is in danger all the time, Father, but thank you for your concern." Her voice suddenly adopted a haughty tone, surprising even herself. "I have not forgotten my Vatican training. I am still capable of protecting myself." She took a deep breath to dispel the sudden negativity, and she smiled at him, genuine and warm, her own way of being contrite for her earlier outburst.

She couldn't help but marvel at this change in him, her eyes wandering over him, hoping for a glimpse of the old silly priest she used to nag, the one she used to feel a fair amount of irritation towards. Now he seemed even more mysterious and withdrawn, his gaze faraway even when he was looking straight at her.

She shook herself, remembering her manners. _Whatever had happened, it does not do to dwell too much on it_, she thought to herself. She would not pry, however incessant her curiosity was.

"You're both welcome to stay here as my guests, as long as you need to," she said as she rose, feeling suddenly stifled at the strangeness between them. "If you will excuse me, I have a meeting with my advisors."

Ion and Abel rose and bowed as they watched her leave. She felt the weight of their gazes on her, and as she turned one last time she glimpsed the puzzlement in Ion's eyes and the light's reflection on the priest's glasses. She shivered, feeling cold and more alone than ever, before walking out of the door.

She strode, unseeing of her surroundings, until she felt the weight on her hand: the book of poetry, which she had not realized she'd brought with her. Opening it to a random page, she read, "_And at the closing of the day she loosed the chain, and down she lay_—"

* * *

_And then she woke up._

_Jolted into wakefulness, she felt her small ship land none too gently, and she rose wearily, blearily blinking her eyes to peer through the tinted glass of the window to the world outside. She couldn't leave the ship, for the air outside was poisonous with the remnants of the gaseous, biological warfare that destroyed this part of the world. Bones from those who used to inhabit this place were stained red, a harbinger of what was to come in the remaining habited lands. The desert that surrounded her was dry; her homeland, what had been left of her birthplace, was now a vast wasteland. The burning sand was reminiscent of a land she once walked with three others, hard and uncompromising. But beyond the waving ocean of dunes lay the lands that still thrived, crying out for a saviour from those that preyed on them who were being led by the three that had been her companions for most of her life. It hurt to ponder how her life came to be etched with their betrayal. But even as her heart yearned for one of them, there was something that she could not turn her back to. She had been created to be a leader, and she would bring this forsaken world back to light, a light not encroached by their shadow._

_She would crush them if need be, and somehow find a way to bring salvation to the one she had lost._

_In this land of lost memories she felt she alone bore the legacy of the world they had left behind. She clutched at her belly, feeling a deep abyss longing to spring out of her, and she reined it in with an effort. There were battles ahead of her; there was a world to save. While she still possessed herself she must do what she could to not have this place be the only vestige for the future. Even for an unknown evil yet to be born._

* * *

Since that rainy day, the world seemed devoid of life and colour. Abel felt as though he couldn't keep a hold of himself any longer, couldn't distinguish anymore from whose eyes he gazed at the world—the Crusnik, himself, some other? Was this part of the after-effect of an incomplete merging between Crusniks? If so, it would explain Cain's predicament. Perhaps Crusniks were not meant to fuse, despite the constant hunger for power. Disoriented and disconnected from his own conscious, he watched as the weeks flew by within the confines of Esther's castle, with no sign of that which he sought.

Abel pushed his glasses up his nose, sighing. In front of him on the table lay the two pieces that were all he had left of her: her rosary, and her name imprinted on a metallic band. He didn't know whether he ought to burst out into tears or go howling mad. He traced her name with his finger, the longing and despair eating him up, insatiable and futile.

A splash of red burst in his view, and he turned his head, eyes magnetically drawn to that colour. His shoulders deflated as he realized his mistake and false hope. It was only the queen, out on the balcony with her ladies-in-waiting for an afternoon walk. Beyond her, the sun was setting.

He stood. The Count of Memphis would be waking soon, and Abel figured he might as well greet his companion.

* * *

Isaak sat lotus-style beyond the magic circle he'd drawn around the coffin. The pungent scent of incense filled the air, providing the atmosphere he needed. He found himself once again performing the task of awakening their project, and unlike before, he felt a resistance, the mind and body seemingly at war. He could feel the reluctance of the body to become once more re-ensouled, and that simply would not do.

In the darkness beyond where he waited for an immeasurable amount of time, a disembodied voice filled his mind, rasping and guttural, long disused. _Leave me be. Let me rest, please._

Finally, he thought, a measure of progress, he had found her. "Ah, Eurydice. I've been waiting, searching for your soul, but you've never truly left that corporeal tie to this world, have you?"

_My time has gone. I am past this world. Leave me to my rest._

"I cannot grant such an imploration. It is not in our interest to do so. We have need of you. It is a necessity for the survival of this world."

Silence stretched, and he felt the weightlessness of his own solitude. His brow furrowed, his heart beginning to pound deeply in his chest as fear started to descend on him. She couldn't have departed yet, could she? He never gave her leave.

Finally, after a seeming eternity passed, he heard her, faintly.

_…Who is Eurydice?_

Isaak smiled. "Why, you are, my dear. You are our Eurydice. It is time for you to enter the underworld, back into our fray."

_What is Eurydice?_

"A part of us. She is what we make her to be."

There was a cessation of sensation, and he suddenly heard her voice, loud and clear, filling his mind with the ringing echo of her command.

_Begone._

With a force he had not expected he was brought back to himself, breathless. His own mind had been forced back into his body, with a strength that made him stagger. His breathing was heavy, determination filling him anew with the proof of his progress. His eyes narrowed at the coffin in front of him, before the lids descended all the way to take to task once more.

* * *

"_Out flew the web and floated wide; the mirror crack'd from side to side_—" Esther was startled out of her reading as she walked, hearing voices through an ajar door that she had passed. Curiously, she peered through the crack and saw her two visitors seemingly in the middle of an argument. The priest's back was to her, not affording her any view of his expression except for the tightly clenched fist held at his side. In front of him, she could see the Count of Memphis, anger and annoyance etched quite clearly on his expressive face.

"This is a war we are in, or have you forgotten?" exclaimed Ion. "We're supposed to be chasing the enemy. And now, what are we after? What am I following you for? We've been here for weeks, idling the days away. Not once, in all our time together, have I been privy to your thoughts, to what's going on in your head. I've been following blindly, but I'm starting to think that this is far enough for me."

Esther held her breath, feeling her heart pinch inside her chest. _Everything crumbles_, she thought. Her eyes raked over the tall back of the priest, feeling an insurmountable distance she couldn't breach. There had always been mysteries and secrets with him beyond the clumsiness, that darkness that had kept him remote and unreachable. _The mark of his sins_, he had once called it. She wanted so much to regain the easiness they once had, without this discomfort as though they were strangers to each other.

His voice was soft when he finally spoke, and with an air of finality. "I understand. It's just as well, then, for this journey should've been a lonely one since the beginning."

Ion bristled in disbelief. "You damned Terran!" he huffed, and Esther staggered back when she saw him coming towards the door she was hiding behind. She moved out of the way, and the Methuselah, so blinded by his own anger that he didn't notice her there, walked with heavy, pounding steps down the hall.

She didn't know who to go to in this moment, or to decide whether it was all right for her to interfere in their altercation. She turned once more back to the room, to the remaining occupant that still stood unmoving and seemingly unmoved by what had just transpired.

She entered, running her eyes down his form, only then noticing the blood that trickled out of his clenched fist. Alarmed, she placed her book on the table beside him, the open pages blowing with her movement, before reaching for his hand.

Abel uttered a startled gasp at her touch, blinking out of wherever he had been in his mind to find a head of red hair bowed over his hand.

_"Another fight, Abel?"_ came the memory of her voice in his head, before he was plunged back into the present, to this other voice that asked him whether he was all right.

He had been holding onto his spectacles, his fingers digging too deep into the lenses that they cracked, burrowing into the skin of his palm. He had not noticed it; it seemed in these weeks, intermittently slow and fast, he had done nothing but numbly watched and waited, watched and waited, to face a ghost made corporeal. All the world had faded, and would continue to not matter to him until he and his spectre collided. In time, he wondered whether he had been lied to by the Puppet Master. Abel's own judgment in that matter was itself questionable, for how could he believe an enemy to be truthful, especially one who was a renowned manipulator? But how could he not, when faced with the possibility of her retrieval?

A memory surfaced again. She used to stroke the bruises on his knuckles, dropping a soft kiss on each, her breath stirring the minuscule hairs on his skin. But now his palm faced upwards, and the voice and the touch were not as he remembered, and he withdrew his hand, eyeing the broken glasses he couldn't hide behind anymore.

"It's fine," he uttered in a soft voice meant to reassure, but to her or himself, he didn't know.

He couldn't really look at her, bewildered by the memories that were stirred in his mind by the colour of her hair, focusing instead on the book she dropped on the table. It was haphazardly opened to a page, and he couldn't help but read the lines that caught his eye:

_Ah dear, but come thou back to me:  
Whatever change the years have wrought,  
I find not yet one lonely thought  
That cries against my wish for thee. _

A rueful smile curved a corner of his lips. He almost laughed at the absurdity of it—those very words mirroring what he was feeling inside: the yearning he couldn't escape from; the obsession he couldn't deny. Even now there was a pang in his chest for the loss that always filled him, unwilling to give him peace. He couldn't let go, and he couldn't forgive, a punishment he had to live with until his final ending.

* * *

_And then she woke up._

_Beyond the darkness of her eyelids she was faced with an undesirable choice: dare she let these human voices wake her, or drown once more back into her dreams?_

_But they called, and the beckoning left her without a will to negate it. Their voices were incessant, almost an irritation that called her once again back into the world of the living. Hadn't it been enough, the earlier awakening wherein she was a ghost that watched the world from this vessel of a body, a watcher that also acted but not with her own consciousness? That had been even tiring than the mere act of living itself. In this place on the verge of sleep and awakening, she possessed self-awareness and desire and will, but she could feel her hold slipping, could feel herself being plunged back into the darkness, into the stagnant peace of the deepest sea._

_But then, despite herself, she woke up. She woke up to a world drenched in blood. With that first breath she inhaled crimson regret, stale and metallic, and she choked. She arose to the light of the sunset shining from the broken stained glass window above. And even as she coughed out blood, she felt the nanomachines whirring out of her to consume it back again._

_She panted as though these were her very last breaths, deep and loud gasps that echoed through the vaulted ceiling, that shook her as though her whole body was fighting against the very act of living, of breathing, as though with each exhale her body was willing it to be the last. It alarmed the dark spectators that watched her at the bottom of the steps. As with the newly birthed, she cried at the pain of being born, back again into the world of pain._

* * *

The two moons shone brightly through the windows, seeming to gaze at the world through a pair of misshapen eyes. Unable to sleep, Abel strolled through the silent halls of the castle, meeting the night guard on their patrol every now and then. Up the grand staircase, through the west wing, circling through the maze of corridors with no fixed destination in mind, his feet arbitrarily paced until by chance, a Count met him.

Abel bowed his head in greeting. "Count of Manchester, I didn't know you were here. Ah, please accept my condolences regarding the loss of the Ghetto and its inhabitants."

The other man stared at him, blinking as though in disbelief. In his arms were books and miscellaneous files, held closely to his chest as though he had been to the library for some night reading. " Commander—" he began, then swallowed the word back before he could finish it, and Abel's eyes widened, suddenly feeling apprehensive though he dared not show it.

The Methuselah cleared his throat. "Lord Abel, I never thought I would have the opportunity to meet you."

Abel was taken aback, surprised to have someone call him by his former title let alone dub him as "Lord". He cleared his own suddenly dry throat. "You are mistaken, Your Excellency. I am merely a wander—"

"Oh, but please let us not resort to this," interrupted Virgil Walsh. "I have been meaning to seek an audience with you, Lord Abel, ever since I found out you were here."

Abel looked behind and around him to ensure nobody else heard them. "Why do you call me that?"

Virgil in turn checked to make sure they were alone before sensing the marching footsteps of the guards. He gestured to the door he came from, indicating to Abel to follow him. The priest complied, curious despite himself. They sat opposite each other across a small table, a viewing screen between them that showed the inner architecture of what had been the Ghetto of Londinium.

"It was entrusted to our family to have the knowledge of the full layout of the Ghetto, to be the keepers of its secrets, to be the manufacturers of the technology from times long past. Part of our charge is the knowledge of the history the rest of the world has forgotten. Your history." At this, he pulled something from the file in front of him, something small and rectangular: a sepia photograph of four figures. Two men stood on either side of a woman and a girl child, one man pushing rectangular glasses up the bridge of his nose while the other scowled at the camera.

A gasp escaped from Abel as he stared at this memento from a long time ago.

"The House of Manchester is charged with the secrecy of that which the world is now ignorant of: the history of the Red Mars Project."

* * *

Lit by a lonely lamp, the royal chamber was cast with an intimate glow. Esther reclined beneath the covers, reading softly to herself. "_Who is this? And what is here? And in the lighted palace near died the sound of royal cheer; and they crossed themselves for fear_—"

She trailed off as she sensed it, at the edge of her periphery. In the darkness, an independent shadow moved.

Without thought, purely on instinct, Esther pulled the gun hidden under her pillow and fired two shots, straight towards that shadow. She heard a gasp of surprise and pain, and knew that she'd hit her target. Through the relief coursing through her, the ornate double doors of her chamber burst open, lamplight flooding on the floor, blocked only by the tall figure of her Vatican visitor.

"Esther, I heard gunshots. Are you alright?"

There was another gasp from the forgotten shadow, and they saw it move, escaping through the balcony doors.

"Wait—" cried Abel, his voice toned with inscrutable wonder, rather than anger as someone about to make an arrest like Esther was expecting.

He followed the moving darkness out on the wide stone balcony, brightly lit by the moons, illuminating the hint of copper red he saw in the dark room.

_Is it really…?_ he wondered, lost between thought and reality, only dimly aware that he had voiced it.

"Wait! Please, wait!" He slowed when the figure stopped on the verge of jumping over the balcony rail. It hurt to breathe: pain, bewilderment, and fear constricting his chest with every inhale, followed by an intimation of terrifying hope with every exhale.

_Are you real? Are you really here? Is this truly you?_

Imperious demands struggled with gentler implorations. "Please turn. Let me see you. I promise I won't hurt you, just—I just need to see…"

With head bowed and eyes closed, slowly the figure turned, and he felt as though he was dying inside at the sight, watching the scene outside of himself, fearing this was all a dream.

He felt as though it was someone else's hand he raised, fingertips gentle and hesitant on her soft cheek, her intermittent sigh fanning on his palm—_that_ was real, the feel of her breath, a sign she was living. He spread his hand, fingers brushing against the quick and steady pulse on her neck, the palm delicately pushing her head back so he could better gaze at her. His thumb brushed against the tears that fell from her still-closed eyes. He wanted to see himself reflected in her gaze, to know he was all she saw. "Look at me." He felt the slight shaking of her head against his hand. "Please. Please look at me."

Her dark lashes fluttered against his thumb, soft and fragile as butterfly wings, as her lids slowly raised, revealing eyes he had not gazed upon for hundreds and hundreds of years. He was struck, feeling frozen in place as those years melted away to when the world was young and there were only the two of them. He felt like he regained forever in that moment, all that he'd waited for was suddenly here, in his hand. He felt the weight of her palm against his pounding heart, trapping it down to his chest, and he raised his other hand, encircling her arm to find more reassurance that she was substantial. But she cried out, a pained gasp that alarmed him, and he drew his hand away only to find it wet with her blood.

Bewilderedly he gazed at her and his hand, finally reconciling through the haze of disbelief that she'd been hurt, that was why she was attempting to escape.

"You were shot," he mumbled dazedly.

He became aware of her hands tangling against the chain that held her rosary around his neck. Her eyes were unfathomable, a deep darkness where sadness and something ominous lay.

"A-be-el," she haltingly whispered in a hoarse voice, and he felt his heart flutter at the sound of his name coming from those lips.

"I-I am s-sorry," she said softly, her shoulders shuddering, before she pushed him away from her with all her strength. Caught off-guard, he stumbled and landed on his back, and could do nothing but watch helplessly from the ground as above him gunshots were fired, echoing through the balcony, riddling her chest with holes as their impact pushed her backwards over the stone rail.

Time stretched and his world grew smaller, shrinking down to the very moment where all he could do was watch as she tumbled over the edge. His eyes opened wide at the sight, at the hopelessness that suddenly filled him over a love regained for but a second and then lost again. His breath caught and held in his throat before a fearsome cry at last tore from his chest.

Finally able to move, he rose and ran, desperately trying to catch her, hearing himself scream her name as he watched her plummet down the darkness to the rocky waves below.

Fury coursed through his veins, and without vocal command or confirmation to the nanomachines inside him, he was Crusnik. Barely a second passed with this abrupt transformation and he was suddenly on the roof behind him, his hand already clasped around the throat of the queen's night guard, the stale stench of gunpowder still lingering from the gun that the guard dropped to the ground. The other guards had already run away in terror.

_Just a pinch,_ this other, more powerful him, observed, _with not even a minuscule pressure and this pathetic life will be destroyed. Fragile neck bones snapped by this hand, a quick cessation for him as those bullets on her were slow._

Her. She.

_"Abel, I know that you love the world."_

He gasped, faltering at the memory of her voice, soft and kind, in his mind.

_"Because you love…and you believe…you were so hurt…"_

His arm trembled, and he slowly became aware of the pained gasps issuing from the creature in his grasp.

_"…when you thought you'd been betrayed. And you made the world your enemy."_

His nostrils flared with the sting of tears. His hand loosened, and the man fell on the flat roof, panting and shuddering. Without a word or regard, Abel turned and soared over the roof, beyond the balcony, ignoring the voice of the queen shrieking his name behind him. He drifted gently down to the huge, wet rocks at the bottom of the cliff, landing on one of the higher outcrops.

He stood dejected, his gaze running across the surrounding area, already knowing deep within that she was not there. Her blood diffused in his hand, washed away by the salty spray of the turbulent tides and his own tears.

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A/N: Works cited in this chapter include Tennyson's "In Memoriam XC" and "The Lady of Shalott", and Trinity Blood manga Act 19 and 21. Bits and pieces from T.S. Eliot's "The Love Song of J Alfred Prufrock" were paraphrased.

Thanks for reading :)  
Sept/09


	12. Under your halo I'll surrender

Disclaimer: Trinity Blood belongs to its respective owners, notably not me.

This chapter is dedicated to those who still follow this story. Hope you enjoy reading this ^_^

I started writing chapter 12 almost immediately after finishing chapter 11, and for the past months, to my chagrin, it's been languishing on some 400+ words, until I found a concert footage of "Dress" performed by Abingdon Boys School with Sakurai Atsushi of Buck-Tick, and that really gave the muse a much-needed hit upside the head *lol* Seriously, that performance was just epic: the abs cover of "Dress" with the voice of Buck-Tick himself. I totally recommend watching it.

Thanks to DarkScrivener for beta reading.

* * *

Chapter 12: _In heaven whenever I see you  
I drop all my weapons  
You tell me the meaning to life  
How you drive me mad_

__

INSANE, MY PAIN, I'm screaming on the inside  
Awake to the justice  
AGAIN, IN VAIN, I'm reaching for an answer  
My tragedy just fades away  
I dedicate it all to you

No one will last in disguise  
Time flies like an arrow  
Under your halo, I'll surrender

In heaven whenever I feel you  
I'll unload my handgun  
You give me the will to go on  
Do I drive you mad

_INSANE, MY PAIN, I'm rushing to the outside  
Now over the distance  
I PRAY, IN RAIN, you're tearing off the cancer  
My destiny will break away  
I wanna make it up to you_  
— Abingdon Boys School, "Valkyrie"

* * *

"Father! Father Nightroad!" Esther screamed herself hoarse, repeating his name. Nothing but the turbulent crash of waves on the rocks from the darkness below greeted her. She was oblivious to the rest of the guard and staff imploring her to move away from the balcony and into the safety of the palace. All she knew was that she couldn't move from this place. Too many thoughts churned through her head; her heart was filled with befuddlement. She didn't quite understand why she had felt her heart sinking in her chest when she witnessed the exchange between Father Nightroad and the assassin; didn't want to acknowledge the hurt and confusion she felt when he had bypassed her to chase after that shadow. Was that what he had been waiting for? And for what purpose?

Admittedly, in the beginning, though she had chosen to stifle her curiosity, it was not an easy feat. Having him around reminded her of her time with AX; but the solemn air that had surrounded him all throughout his stay made it hard for her to grow accustomed to him. He had been like a ghost, an entirely new person enshrouded in shadows and secrets, too lost within layers of grief for her to reach. A part of Esther wanted his acknowledgment of what she so far had accomplished since ascending the throne of Albion. It was a selfish wish, she knew, but he had been a constant in her life since that fateful day they met in Istvan, and she wanted to be seen as more than a subordinate, and more than a ruler.

"Esther!" Ion's concerned voice came through the throng of guards around her as he came bursting through them. "Esther, I'm sorry to come so late. Are you alright?"

She blinked, prying her gaze away from below to stare at him. "Excellency. I-I'm fine."

"I heard you've been shot at—"

She shook her head. "It was nothing. It was actually me who did the shooting."

He reached out his hands, but at the last moment faltered from touching her. "You're not hurt?"

"No."

He nodded with a sigh of relief. "What happened?"

Esther turned her gaze back to the sea. "There was a woman. I think she snuck into the palace and into my room—"

"Did she—"

"No… I shot at her before she had any chance to do anything to me, and then Father Nightroad came and—"

"Abel? Where is he?"

"He's down there. He went after her."

"…Her," echoed Ion, perturbance wrinkling his brow, leaning over to stare beyond the railing. Even with the enhanced vision of the Methuselah, he couldn't see much. He frowned at the faint, zigzagging spark that lit up that darkness. Beneath his fingertips on the stone balcony and his feet on the ground, he felt a slight vibration that had his senses clamouring in alarm. He felt the beat of his heart quickening with dread as he turned to Esther.

"We should leave his retrieval to your men," said Ion urgently, moving to grasp her arm, but mindful of actually touching her due to the guards. "Whoever sent that assassin might have more hiding close by. It's not safe for you to be out here."

And then they both felt it: the burst of static charges in the air, their hairs standing on end. The ground beneath their feet started to rumble and shake.

Ion's eyes widened in trepidation. "Esther!" he shouted just as the cliff that supported the balcony they leaned on collapsed, and plunged down into the darkened sea.

* * *

A forceful tremour brought her to consciousness. Lilith floated, movements slow and languid, limbs at the mercy of the push and pull of her surroundings. She felt the heaviness of space, that great black vastness that stretched on, surrounding her. If she could but open her heavy eyes, she knew she'd see the brightness and the loneliness of stars, and the Earth—that world that had borne her—falling away forever. It nagged at the back of her mind, that ineffable thought, that though she was created by that world, she'd also been rejected by it, and that she'd see this mirrored so plainly in the faces of her companions. And so she pushed and shoved the idea from her mind, buried it so deeply as to have no traces of it.

She tried to open her eyes, and in seeped salty water that stung more than tears. With a start she realized where she was: the heaviness she mistook for space was, in fact, the sea. Their vastness and boundlessness had been indistinguishable.

Slowly, she became aware: of pain receding from several wounds on her chest and a gash at her shoulder; of something flowing out of her that had slowed to a trickle; of a stirring in her belly. At the last moment during the fall from the cliff, something took over her, transformed her, and cocooned her in the safety of the sea while repairing the damage she'd sustained. The blood from the last few weeks had definitely helped.

_Abel_, she mouthed, bubbles forming her words and flowing away from her. She could still feel the heaviness of his hands on her—that wanted so much to tighten, to brand, to shackle—and the weight of despair over their union. It all happened so fast: a small grain of a second—found, only to be lost again.

She reached up to touch her throat amidst the tangle of hair. She swallowed, exercising muscles that she knew shouldn't be able to move any longer. Death had claimed her, hadn't it? The last thing she remembered was the lance that had fallen and felled her. But that same face, with its hunger and its madness, had stared back at her when she'd first woken.

Lilith sifted through the memories that engulfed her mind, tried to make sense of the actions taken, the words said and left unsaid, tried to get a bearing of her own self through all of them. Always, at the forefront floated images of Abel—the root that enabled her to take hold of her mind once and for all.

Muffled gurgling filled her ears, and it hurt to open her eyes. The salt of the sea mingled with the salt of dried tears. A sigh escaped in bubbles as she floated deep beneath the waves. Maybe she could stay down here forever, her final escape.

Despair loomed and hovered. She stroked her hand across her belly, mentally chiding the entity within for not letting her have her rest. It was not the first time she thought of it as a parasite nestling within her, ironically seeming to have been borne out of love. Knowing the nature of the Krusniks was enough to lead her to believe it would destroy the world once it reached full term, if she ever let it get that far. It had been the soundest decision she had ever made to let herself be killed. She thought, after saving what was left of the world from the Knightlord siblings, that she could save it from the destruction that would eventually come from 04 and this.

She spread her limbs out, limp, letting the pull of the undertow lead her where it may. She couldn't surface yet. She needed time to ruminate, to get to know the world she had woken up in, to see how different it was from before, to see what had changed. The glimpse she had of the world from a mind that wasn't fully conscious and in someone else's control was not enough to give her a full impression. And as much as her heart yearned, she knew she couldn't see Abel again. Not yet, not so soon. There were so many things that she had to figure out, and it would be better for her to quench her desire to run to him if she were far away.

But before that, there was a shackle she must break. The blue wings unfurled behind her and polychromed into the shades of sunset. The nanomachines crawled along her skin, and she felt a snap against her limbs as they dissevered the Biotechnological Threads that had bound her to that young devil with the angelic face.

_And so, farewell_, she bade as the sea swept her away.

* * *

The nanomachine wings dissipated, and his long nails dug into his palm as his fists clenched tightly. Abel stood rigid on the rocks, only now through the numbness feeling the spray of the tides against him, his clothing and hair damp.

He looked up to the still-night sky, feeling the vast and empty world looming around him, mirroring the helplessness he had felt when he had left this planet so very long ago. His jaw quivered before he let a shout erupt, hoping it would reach that unceasing darkness, but even as he released it all out he felt unrelinquished from it.

Along with rage, hopelessness filled him. Twice now she had been within his reach, close enough for all his senses to be filled with her but he just could not hold her in his grasp.

For the first time in a long time since he became a Krusnik, he wanted to unleash its power and raze the world to the ground.

Behind him, he felt a sudden gush of displaced air as wings flapped, and he heard the sound of soft steps of bare feet on the rocks. It was all Abel could do to contain his fury at this intrusion. He was all too aware that this was not the place to unleash it; there was a castle that stood at the cliff's edge just above him.

"My, my, how careless indeed," said the interloper chidingly. "I practically handed her to you on a platter, and yet you still managed to clumsily mangle up this opportunity. You amaze me, 02."

"I should kill you where you stand," Abel responded gruffly through clenched teeth. He breathed heavily, his skin tingling with the crackle of electricity as the nanomachines awakened once more.

The man behind him laughed. "Despite your vow to her? I've returned what I've taken from you, shouldn't we call this even? You now have no reason for revenge."

The voice that resounded from Abel's throat was guttural with a mechanical edge. "Then why does she run from me?"

"Who knows what lies inside the dusty ghost of a woman's heart?"

He shook his head, sealed his lids tightly over his eyes as he took a deep, shaky breath. "Leave, Cain, before I lose whatever control I have left."

"Oh, you're showing mercy, 02?" Cain admonished mockingly. "How magnanimous of you! She herself had none for those vampires she massacred in Londinium. You're aware of that, yes? Or do you fear for the humans above us? Will you be able to save them from yourself, oh, Enemy of the World?"

"Enough."

"Have you looked at yourself lately? That face you make is something I haven't seen in so long. I have found the very thing that has turned you back to Contra Mundi. Her death caused you to abandon your hate, and behold what her resurrection has wrought!"

"Shut up," the words rumbled harshly from Abel's throat.

"Before me stands the paragon of wrath—"

"Shut up."

"—You must feel it. The Krusnik within you is crying out with joy that their container is no longer a dog with its tail cut off—"

Abel turned, gaze piercing and crimson, finally managing to silence his sworn adversary, the man he called brother nearly a millennium ago. As though sensing the murderous atmosphere that emanated from the black-clad figure, the tides became even more tumultuous, roaring against the rocky outcrop they stood on, baptizing both with its spray.

"Nanomachine Krusnik 02—"

"—Yes—"

"—Release of restrictions at—"

"—Give in and unbind them, brother—"

The sound of the waves drowned out Abel's voice. Jagged, blue cracks of electricity flared out from the night-dark wings that sprouted from his back, and the Krusnik nanomachines as one opened their maws to engulf everything in their path.

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Thanks for reading! I'd appreciate any thoughts you have regarding this chapter or the story so far.

July/10


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